


Burning A Northern Winter

by PiwakawakaOz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 13:37:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13482591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiwakawakaOz/pseuds/PiwakawakaOz
Summary: Post-Season 7.  What we have been waiting for.  Sandor Clegane arrives at Winterfell to find Sansa Stark, a fully-fledged woman in charge of war preparations and herself.  Features many characters but this is SanSan - Mature audiences only.  Told mostly from Sansa POV.  More chapters coming.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a long time since she had thought of men in a romantic way. Her history robbed her of any childish romantic notions. She had been forced into a marriage of convenience at a barely marriageable age. That husband had at least been kind to her, and not demanded her maidenhead. 

Tyrion Lannister was an unusual man. In moments of reflection, she thought perhaps she could have come to love him. He was always kind to her, never failed to protect her. His intelligence and wit were attractive, and together with his caring qualities she could have been brought to look past his stature. He was a dwarf, although not an unattractive man. She’d been mortified by his lack of height at the time. She towered above him even then, but age and experience had changed her dramatically and she was now embarrassed by the superficial way she had viewed the world and beauty. 

She wondered if, gifted her life again, she would not have run from him and Kings Landing? That change in path may have avoided her second forced marriage, which had been a far crueller reality. Then again, had she not escaped when she did, she would likely have lost her head, once King Joffrey died. As it was, Tyrion had barely escaped in time to save his own head. Who knows what fate would have dealt her in the capital without him by her side?

Try as she might, she failed to envisage a worse fate than marriage to Ramsay Bolton. He was a sadistic, brutal, creep, who made Joffrey’s cruelties look tame. Ramsay had tormented her and raped her regularly during their brief marriage. She had found a place in her mind to escape to during his many assaults of her. A silent void to cut herself off from her body and the world. 

The experience made her sure she would never know love, nor marry again. She had built herself into a stone woman, an ice lady never showing her feelings nor truly allowing herself any. She didn’t even feel real joy at the reunion of her siblings. She was lost, even to herself. Or was she? It had indeed been a joy to serve Ramsay and Petyr Baelish their deaths on a platter - perhaps there was hope for her rebirth after all?

Before them all there had been Joffrey. Not knowing mad King Joffrey’s nature at the time, she had not only supported but advocated for a betrothal to him. She had been seduced by the child-like fantasy of it all. She was thankful she had never married him. There were to be no fairy tales in her future. She had power of her own now. As Warden of the North in her brother Jon’s absence, she’d been gifted a true sense of purpose denied by her sex. Few women wielded any power in this world. Most were vessels for their lord husband’s seed, or labour for a household. Subservient to all men. Thought to be and treated as though less intelligent. 

Her current position afforded her deference and, although it gave no light to her world, it did give her confidence, self-esteem and contentment that she appreciated. She felt an emptiness in the knowledge she would never have children and know the love they could offer her. The gamble of a fourth poor match, wagered against that experience were insufficient odds to entice her. Besides the brutal rapes she had endured left her with a hollowness inside that she felt sure was barren-ness. No seed had taken root then thankfully, and the soil had no doubt been tainted forever.

No man stood as her equal anyway. Those prissy knights she used to adore seemed children to her now. Lordlings were no doubt intent on taking her position for themselves and putting her into a role of brood mare. Not that she ever allowed one close enough to find out for sure, but she could see their plans in their eyes and avoided their advances. 

For all she had resigned herself to spinsterhood there was one man, of all she had known, who would come to her in her dreams. He would sneak through her walls when the night took her resolve and her tired mind rested, rumbling words into her thoughts in his low enticing voice, kissing her and touching her soul. 

She would wake heated and struggle to let go of the sensations or come to terms with it as a dream. It was only ever him who came to her. He’d been coming for years, stuck in her being somehow. The knowledge of his impending arrival at Winterfell along with Tyrion and Jon had disconcerted her for days. She was nervous enough at the thought of seeing Tyrion again, but to see that man when she had so vividly dreamt his touch, so many times, was distracting.

He was much older than her, but her years didn’t reflect her true age. She’d seen too much of life to view someone equal to her in years as a counterpart. There had always been something there with this man. Initially she’d thought him cruel, but other than Tyrion he’d been the only one to show her genuine kindness during her time in Kings Landing. She now realised his often-cruel words were honesties. He’d been trying to warn her of the vipers nest she’d entered and been too immature to see for herself. She’d come around to his way of thinking over time, having witnessed the politics of Kings Landing at close hand.

He’d protected her as best he could in his position as Joffrey’s favoured Kingsguard. There was always something about him that made her catch her breath. He was coarse, abrasive too, but he oozed rough masculinity and his eyes were dark pools of intrigue. He was taller than any man she’d met, save for his brother who was known as the Mountain that Rides. He brandished a sword with superior skill, rescued her from being raped once, and offered to take her far away the night of the Battle of the Blackwater. 

He’d been very drunk that night and it had scared her. She had thought he might kiss her, and had mused upon it so often since that she wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t. At the time of his intervention there was already a rescue plan in place, so she’d refused him, to her enduring regret.

Her younger sister Arya hated him or at least she had hated him but, in the end, he’d been good to her too. Coming across her in his travels he’d protected her and tried to deliver her to their mother. He was fortunately late in doing so and it had saved her life; their mother, brother, sister-in-law and so many clansmen and bannermen perishing at the hands of their turn-coat enemy, the Frey’s, at the notorious Red Wedding. 

Arya had told her she had thought she was avenging her hatred for him by denying him a merciful death when he’d been gravely injured sometime later. When she’d trained with the faceless men, she’d come to realise she held affection for him and was grateful for his protection when he’d given it. She understood now that her lack of mercy had not been out of hate but out of her inability to hurt him.

Sansa had wondered if he’d offered that protection to Arya in recompense for not having saved her. Protecting her blood as best he could. It was a somewhat arrogant thought, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that their connection was mutual. That there was something between them that neither could label, and she wondered, now that she had matured, whether it would remain unspoken or remain at all.

After taking a large sip from the goblet of wine she held, she put it down on the small table next to her chair. The words on the parchments which lay on her lap refused to enter her mind, so consumed with thoughts of him. Giving in to herself, she rolled them up and set them aside for a later time. 

Standing, she smoothed out the creases of her dress and began pacing in front of the fireplace. She was glad her sister was not at hand to witness her being so off-keel. Arya had developed an unreadable presence, always even and cool, if not frightening. She was a formidable swordswoman and moved with grace as she fought. For all Arya resisted any notion of womanhood, choosing to dress in breeches and a tunic, and pursuing masculine past-times, when she fought it was with the unmistakable flourish of a woman. Sansa allowed herself to smile as she thought about it.

There was a knock upon the door and a servant entered the room. Sansa looked expectantly at the girl standing before her, who spoke and said, “They’re here, m’lady, been spotted from the towers. They’ll be entering the gates shortly.”

“Thank you, Ellyn.” Sansa said. “Fetch me my cape, please. I should like to be in the courtyard when they arrive.” 

The girl scurried to a hook on the wall and grabbed a long black cape. Stepping towards Sansa as she turned, she lay the cape over her shoulders and Sansa clasped it at her own neck. 

“Would you require a shoulder fur too, m’lady?” Ellyn asked.

“Yes.” Sansa replied. “The grey one, and my black leather gloves.”

Once Sansa was wrapped for the cold outside, Ellyn stepped backwards and dipped her head, waiting for her mistress to exit the room before her. Sansa took a couple of long slow breaths, raised her head tall and strode confidently from the room, her long red hair a striking contrast against the black and grey ensemble she wore. 

She made her way through the stone passageways to the newly rebuilt wooden gallery which overlooked the courtyard. Pulling her large gaping hood over her head against the chill of the air, she observed the increased activity of stableboys and porters below preparing to make themselves useful.

It was Tyrion who entered the courtyard first. He dismounted his horse with assistance. When he looked up and saw her he smiled broadly and called out a cheerful greeting. She acknowledged him with a smile and nod, before a porter moved towards him and directed him to the great hall where warmth, food and wine awaited them all.

She was just about to go inside to meet him, when she saw the man she’d been looking for amongst the growing crowd. He was unaware of her and she watched him intently. When his eyes finally looked up, she felt her legs wobble beneath her skirts and she clutched hold of the bannister.

“Shit-face!” She heard Arya call out.

He’d dropped his gaze to look through the crowd towards the voice and his lips had curled into a grin when he saw the dark-haired young woman, standing straight and as tall as her diminutive height would allow, her hands clasped behind her back. 

“So, you live, wolf-bitch! I had hardly believed it true when I heard.” He rumbled.

“You must be damnable hard to kill yourself.” The girl said with a smirk before stepping forward and hurrying towards him. Leaning into him when she reached him. 

It was not a hug by any but their own standards. She bumped her shoulder against him, whilst his broad hand patted the back of her other shoulder, her seemingly tiny against his towering form.

Arya caught the attention of a porter and told him to direct Clegane to bathing-facilities. 

“I’ll meet you in the great hall for a drink of wine, when you smell less like a wet dog and look less like a sack of shit.” She said, grinning.

He nodded his acceptance still smiling and turned his head back to where Sansa had stood. His smile vanished instantly when he saw she was gone. Unknown to him, she was watching him from a new position. Turning, he handed his reins to a stableboy and followed the porter inside to clean himself up.

She entered the great hall and took her place at the head table. Tyrion soon made his way towards her, took up her hand, kissed it and bowed to her.

“You look well, Lady Sansa. Winter agrees with you.” He said.

“Thank you, Lord Tyrion. You look very well yourself. Your head suits you upon your shoulders. I had feared your sister may have taken the opportunity to remove it during your recent reunion.” She said smiling sweetly at him, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. Motioning towards a chair she said, “Do sit with me.”

“Gladly.” He said, climbing upon the seat immediately to her side. “You are far better company than any man here; and smell far sweeter. It is unfortunate we are reacquainting ourselves during such worrying times. Jon and the Queen have flown further north to survey the current situation. I fear the battle may be at Winterfell’s door shortly, but for now we rest and drink. It will not be any better won if we do not.”

He reached forward and lay his hand upon hers. “It pains me that your second marriage brought you no more joy than your first.” He said, looking up from under his heavy brow with a quiet genuine tone to his voice. 

She met his eye and said, “You and I may not have shared joy, Lord Tyrion, but you were nothing but kind to me. Our marriage bears no resemblance to my second.” She turned her hand beneath his and took hold of it firmly. “I thank you for being the gentlemen you are.” 

They were smiling sadly at one another, hands still clasped together, when Arya approached. Clegane two steps behind her. 

“Come, let us join my sister and Lord Tyrion.” She said, as she pulled a stool from beneath the table and pushed it towards Clegane for him to sit upon. “I shall pour you a wine and another, and you can tell me about your experiences beyond the wall.” Arya looked at him as she filled a goblet.

His eyes were transfixed on Tyrion and Sansa’s entwined hands and he silently watched them release one another from their mutual hold. “I shall take your wine gladly.” He said in his gruff voice. “I have had far too bloody little of it of late, but I shall not disturb the pleasant mood with tales from beyond the wall. We will all know too well what it is like soon enough.” 

Arya pushed a goblet towards him and he raised it, turned his eyes to Sansa’s and said, “I drink to your health, little bird. I am glad to see the cess-pool that is Kings Landing did not break you. You have grown in stature and beauty; and look a masterful Warden of the North.” He winked at her and took a large slug of wine.

She could do nothing but stare into his eyes. They pulled her in and she felt as though the room went silent. It had not of course, and when she found herself again a moment later she felt unable to stay in his presence, her dress suddenly feeling constricting of her breath. She forced herself to sit and listen to Tyrion question Arya about her experiences across the Narrow Sea, but as soon as she’d drained her goblet she pushed her chair back and stood.

“I am sorry, I must leave you all and attend to some papers in my chambers.” She said, feigning the excuse to get away. She nodded curtly to them all and left the hall. 

He’d watched her go before making his own excuses and leaving too. As he reached the entrance of the hall he caught a glimpse of her skirt disappearing around a corner at the end of a long passageway. Quickening his stride, he pursued her. Turning that corner, there was no longer any sign of her. Panicked, he roughly grabbed a passing servant’s arm and asked to be taken to Lady Sansa.

When the maid knocked on the door of her chambers he’d almost lost courage, but the maid quickly announced him, and he’d been granted entry. He stood silently looking at her as the maid backed out of the room and shut the door. They were alone, and Sansa stretched out her arm motioning at a chair by the fire for him to sit upon. He shook his head. 

“I’d prefer to stand.” He grunted, letting go of a long breath. “I’m not sure why I’ve come, no doubt it won’t take long.” 

She looked at him quizzically from where she stood. With her hands behind her she raised her skirts a fraction to sit, before placing one hand on top of the other upon her lap. Her face unreadable as she waited for his words, her blue eyes never leaving him.

He strode towards her. His large gait easily closing the distance between them, and swiftly bent down on to one knee to be eye level before her. Imploringly he said, “I need to apologise, little bird. For every coarse action, or word I ever spoke to you. I am not the man I once was, but most of all I need to say how sorry I am that I left you. I understand you did not wish to come with me that night. I know you probably feared me then, but you needn't have.” 

Speaking more to himself than to her he said, “I should not have left. I should have been a stronger man and stayed to protect you. If not, I should have taken you over my shoulder and carried you from that hell.”

Again, imploring her he said, “My neglect of you haunts me, and I am truly sorry for it. I beg your forgiveness.” He finished, moving his gaze from her eyes to the floor.

She reached forward and placed a hand on his forearm which rested upon his bent knee. At the touch of her hand he looked up in surprise and met her eye.

“There is no apology necessary. I made my own choice that night. I was not your responsibility and you did me no disservice by leaving.” She said.

Registering his pain, she said with a small encouraging smile, “If you would like to know a truth, I have regretted it. I have spent many hours wondering where my life would have gone if I had the courage then to go with you.”

His mouth fell open, and she smiled more broadly. “I have shocked you with my admission, Clegane?” She slid her hand under his and grasped it gently. “Your little bird has grown in confidence and candour.” 

His face had twitched at the use of the words “your little bird”. The warmth of his calloused hand spread up her arm. She did not have the same nervousness in his presence in private that she felt when trapped opposite him at the table downstairs. Perhaps, it was his own candour that had shattered it, or the knowledge he had carried her with him in his thoughts for all those years.

He reached his other hand out to her free hand and they drew themselves up to stand together. “I thank you little bird, for your grace in releasing me of my shame. Your forgiveness seems easily granted, but it will take some time for me to forgive myself.” He said, his face twitching with an unease at his actions.

She pulled her left hand out of his hold and carefully lay it upon the scarred side of his face, extending her fingers to gently caress the leathery streaks of scar tissue. He flinched slightly at her touch, she thought more from shock than annoyance. 

“I repeat, there is nothing to warrant my forgiveness. I pray you forgive yourself.” She said.

His head leaned slightly into her palm, welcoming the gesture, and his eyes slowly closed. She raised herself on to her tip toes and lay a soft kiss upon his lips. She surprised herself in doing so, but his vulnerability had softened her core and perhaps she longed to know if the reality of his lips would match her dreams.

The kiss was gentle and sweet. His bushy beard tickling her face. When she landed back on the heels of her feet she looked up to see his eyes wide and darting over her face. She had shocked him further and he was trying to read her. When he saw her take an anticipatory breath, he leaned down and kissed her firmly, his free hand reaching behind her waist and pulling her towards him. 

The heat that kiss released in her body was beyond measure. It exceeded the sparks her own explorations of herself had produced, and she was not shy about granting herself her satisfaction. She felt herself press harder into his broad body, her breasts tingling as they brushed against him. 

When his tongue swept her lower lip, she opened her mouth to him and allowed it to enter. Their tongues tangled a little awkwardly at first, but within a heartbeat they found a mutual rhythm, twisting together passionately. He drew his tongue away and gently sucked her lower lip, giving her a last peck before lifting his head to look down upon her. His arms were wrapped around her; hers were leaning up against his chest and shoulders. They were both breathing heavily, and he smiled. She realised she had not seen him smile so contentedly before.

She had seen him laugh in twisted mirth. Amused by a situation that wounded another’s pride, or when he found humour at another’s ignorance, but a smile on his lips brought by a genuine positive emotion, was something she had never imagined.

“I have dreamed of that kiss a thousand times, little bird.” He rumbled, his voice almost humming in pleasure, his eyes glinting with happiness.

“As often as I then?” She replied coquettishly. 

He laughed lowly, shaking his head gently in disbelief. “Bugger me, little bird. You have knocked me sideways. May I kiss you again?”

Her smile answered his question and they began kissing again. His hand reached up, so his fingers could brush her cheek and thread through her hair. When they released again to catch their breath he was still in awe of her. 

“I should go, little bird, before my presence dishonours you.” He sighed resignedly, still fingering her locks of hair.

“What possible dishonour of your making could befall me? I am Warden of the North. I shall speak to whomever I choose behind closed doors.” She said, with an almost daring look in her eye.

He puffed out a breath. “It’s not the talking I am worried about.” He rasped through his broad grin, whilst a finger brushed her cheek with a touch so light it seemed impossible to have come from such an enormous man.

“Well, I for one am not concerned. I am an adult and shall do as I choose in my own chambers.” She said, raising one eyebrow. 

“Wake me little bird, I must be having a dream.” He said, before quickly adding, “No, don’t! I do not wish to awake from this.” As his finger slid down the curve of her neck.

She allowed her hands to slide down his torso and was about to speak when there was a knock upon the door. They quickly stepped apart and she shook her head, running her fingers through her hair to tidy it. Him smirking at the joy of their private moment.

“Enter.” She called.

It was Ellyn again. “You are wanted in the council room, m’lady. More lords have gathered. They wish to discuss the impending battle.” She said.

“Tell them I am on my way.” Sansa said, her face still and serious, hiding all trace of her recent passion. “Close the door as you go, please Ellyn.”

They stood watching the girl leave. Sansa smiled almost shyly at him and said, “Please say you will return here tonight, after the castle has quietened. I wish to talk to you alone again. I feel we owe ourselves a moment together undisturbed having spent so many years apart.”

He reached out again, touching her face once more. “If it is your wish, of course little bird.” He said.

Their lips briefly met again in a chaste kiss, and they headed towards the door, each making effort to appear disinterested in the other for the world outside.


	2. Chapter 2

He entered the room positioned off the great hall some steps behind her, and stood against a wall cloaking himself with his usual gruff countenance. She gracefully swept across the chamber and took her place in the centre of the long table. 

Sansa appeared serious and regal surrounded by those who had negotiated with the southern lords, those who had ventured beyond the wall, and important local lords who had decamped to Winterfell in preparation for the battle that was to come. Jon and the Queen of Dragons had yet to return from their reconnaissance mission and there were some unhappy rumblings from the local lords who had heard that Jon had bent the knee to her and in doing so foregone his own title of King in the North. 

Sansa, reading the mood of the room, attempted to delay the inevitable confrontation by saying, “I feel this meeting is premature. Without Jon’s update of the situation to the north, there is not much that can be decided upon.”

Lord Tyrion spoke up. “That is true, Lady Sansa, however perhaps those present would feel comfort in knowing your own preparations?”

He gave her an encouraging smile and she began to relay all she had achieved; shoring up Winterfell’s defences, preparing accommodations and food stores for the vast influx of northerners who had sought protection behind the walls of the castle. Cattle and sheep had been herded and driven down from further north to feed the masses. Many long drops had been dug to deal with excess sewage. Healing supplies had been increased one hundred-fold. 

Steelworkers had produced new plate armour non-stop since Jon had first told them of the situation. The stonemasons and weapon makers were working with the shipment of dragon glass that had arrived as Jon and his small party had ventured north of the wall in search of a wight to capture and transport to the southron lords, underlining the reason to set aside differences and join the ultimate battle. 

Another shipment of dragon glass was due any day to expand on the supply of arrowheads, spearheads, and daggers already produced. No hand was idle within the walls of the castle, nor surrounding area. 

At Sansa’s bidding, they had prepared bonfires to be lit amongst a wood to the north of Winterfell to act as a wall of fire to protect the castle from the army of the dead. Timing the lighting of it would be crucial. Too soon and it would burn out before it was needed, too late and the area would not be fully aflame to protect them. There was a risk the fire would spread further than they hoped but, with snow on the ground, they were confident it would be contained to the hectares of the wood they intended to light.

Her explanation of the fire wall defence brought many rumblings of satisfaction and sparked a discussion to expand on the plan. The army of the dead would travel by foot south and pass through heavily wooded areas as it did. It was agreed, dragons would be sent to torch woods when they were amongst them to drastically reduce the numbers that could reach the castle. 

It was known that the undead could only be stopped by stabbing with dragon glass, or Valyrian steel (which was scarce), torching with fire or by sinking in water. Gazing down upon a map, it was decided that they could funnel at least a large portion of the army towards Long Lake with fire and force them into the lake with flame from behind. Another portion could be shepherded towards the eastern sea cliffs with flame and forced off. 

The Queen of Dragons’ two dragons would be crucial in the plan. Much land would be scorched in the effort. The north would be scarred for a long time, but the affected lords understood damaged forests and land was a better outcome than death, or worse becoming undead. The lords at the table agreed to help any affected lords as best they could to resettle or re-establish their domains once the war was won. It was a time to draw together, not capitalise on a neighbour’s loses.

It was an anxious but more hopeful group that departed the council room to re-join those in the great hall for the evening.

Sansa again took up her position in the hall to eat the evening meal. The crowd began to thin sooner than normal as they all sought rest from their travels and labours. She took the opportunity as early as she could to bid everyone goodnight and retire to her chambers.

Ellyn was waiting for her when she arrived in her room. The girl immediately set about loosening her laces, removing and folding her gown and brushing out her hair. Sansa thanked her for her efforts, told her she would not be rising early in the morning and wished her a goodnight.

She pulled on her dressing gown and wrapped it about her, before settling down beside the fire to await her visitor. The war council had gone as well as she could hope, and she wondered whether Jon would return before morning. Although their plan had given the group more confidence than they had dared to date, the situation remained extreme. Even if successful, a new world order was upon them. Old ways would slip away as priorities changed to recover from the expected devastation of the north.

An hour or so later there was a quiet rap on the door. She moved towards it anxiously and opened it. His lips curled into a smile when he saw her, and he stepped forward into the room. She pushed the door closed behind him and slid the bolt across, locking it.

Neither made a movement towards the other, a new nervousness having crept between them since their time alone that afternoon. “Would you like wine?” Sansa asked, breaking the silence and tilting her head.

“Aye, lass.” He replied, and he watched her go to a table to pour them each a goblet from a carafe. She handed one to him and their hands touched as he took it from her. They both sought the reaction of the other in their eyes. 

They stood sipping at their wine cautiously watching one another, as she gathered her courage to ask her next question.

“Would you stay with me tonight?” She released a quick breath, at the relief of suddenly being able to say it. 

“To be clear, I am not sure of what I offer you beyond sharing sleep in a bed. I desire your companionship. It is something I have never had, and with the world falling apart at our feet I don’t feel in a mood to deny myself.” She finished, twisting her lips, unsure if she had explained herself properly.

He nodded and frowning slightly said, “Are you sure, Sansa? You can rest assured you will be safe from any unwanted advances from me, but are you sure you are prepared to take the risk of being found together?”

“Oh, I know you would not force yourself upon me.” Her eyes wide, shaking her head acknowledging the truth. “You could have done that in the past had you chosen, or forced yourself on my sister during your travels together. I know you are a man of honour, and would tell no-one of our time together.” 

She stopped, took a sip of wine, formulating her thoughts before continuing. “If we were to be found, I fail to see the shame of it. I seek marriage from no man – so have no prospects to tarnish. I have been twice married and it is common knowledge what I will have endured at the hands of my second husband, so no-one mistakes me for a maiden.” 

She stopped again to take another sip, rolling the wine around her palate before swallowing. Her shoulders relaxed as she continued, “Our world is under great threat, and I would like to lay next to a man I respect and care for as I drift off to sleep. Lord Tyrion never touched me, young as I was and respectful as he was. Bolton only ever raped me for his amusement or humiliation of me. He spent his nights in his own chambers preferring the companionship of his mistress, thankfully. I have only ever slept next to my sister and would like to know the comfort of a man beside me. Perhaps I will want more, perhaps I will not?” She finished matter-of-factly.

“We are not so different, little bird. I have never slept beside a woman I care for. I too would like to experience that comfort. It is bound to be bastard-different to sleeping alongside flatulent soldiers.” He said curling his lips slightly.

She smiled at him gratefully, and said “Well, if you are sure I am no risk to your own honour, shall we retire?”

He nodded, and sat to take off his shoes. 

She moved about the room blowing out the few candles that were adding illumination. When she was done, all that remained was the glow from the fireplace. Removing her dressing gown, revealing her loose soft linen shift, she lay the gown over the back of a chair, stepped out of her silken slippers and climbed into her bed. Her knees tucked up towards her chin, her arms embracing them as she sat watching him.

He had folded his stockings and placed them upon his shoes, tucking them under his chair. His tunic and shirt lay upon the back of it. He stood and stepped towards the bed. Loosening the laces of his breeches for comfort he pulled back the coverlets and climbed in beside her. They smiled sweetly to one another, and both let out a small laugh. He bent forward and kissed her softly goodnight, before stretching himself out on his side and pulling her towards him in an embrace, her head tucked under his chin, her back flush against his chest.

“Thank you.” She said.

“It is as much a gift that you give me, little bird.” He said kissing the top of her head. 

His arm draped over her hip, his hand gently resting on her belly. She traced his fingers lightly making note of their length, his callouses and the feel of his knuckles. She let her hand slide up his forearm and her fingertips tousle the strong dark hair that grew upon it. The warmth and strength of his body behind hers relaxed her, as did his masculine scent. Not entirely clean from his travels, he had an earthiness to him. 

A small tear formed in her eye and she was glad he could not see it. She wanted to give herself to him but was fearful of the memories it may invoke, so instead she lay there listening to his breathing.

After at least an hour she whispered, “Are you awake?”

“How could I not be, little bird? I want to remember every moment.” He smoothly replied.

She turned, happy with his answer and kissed him lovingly. When she felt his manhood stiffen against her she froze in fright.

Aware of her sudden tension, he said “I’m sorry, Sansa. I don’t have a lot of control over that but, rest assured, you are safe. I will not take you. I would never force you.”

She relaxed upon hearing his words, and caressed his face with her hand, running her thumb down the deep groove where his cheek met his mouth. “I too don’t have a lot of control over my bodily reactions. My fear is inbuilt. It is not of you, but of memories. I’d like to overcome it. I’d like to share myself with you, but my body does not necessarily listen to my heart nor reason.” 

She propped herself up on to one elbow, looking down at him from above, she kissed him again. He pulled away when the kissing became more heated.

“We don’t have to do this, Sansa.” He said genuinely, seriously.

“No.” She replied, “That felt good. It felt like I was in control. Like I was kissing you. It felt powerful.” 

“So, you would have me be submissive to you?” He said with a broad smile.

She smiled back at him. “Does that threaten you as a man? Would you not allow it?”

“Oh, I know I am a man. I doubt I would suddenly become incapable of bearing a sword and slicing a man in two if I allowed a woman to take control of me in a bed.” He said smiling up at her.

“So, I can explore my limits; my comfort?” She asked hopefully.

He rolled his eyes, as if to say what madman would deny such a request? “I am yours to play with as you will. I will take no offense if you want to stop, or ask anything of me.” Laughing a little he said, “You may map whatever part of me you like. Explore at will, little bird.”

Sitting herself up more fully, her weight taken by one hand as she leaned upon it. Smiling softly at him, she pressed her other palm to the side of his face and began stroking his beard. She enjoyed the fullness of it, the coarse but soft sensation against her skin, so different to any part of her own body. Her thumb smoothed his full eyebrow.

“You too have the right to tell me to stop. To withdraw from this situation at any time.” She said, raising her eyebrows as if to confirm the point.

“I think it is safe to say, that will not happen.” He rumbled, and rolled his head under her hand to press his lips to her palm.

Feeling at ease in the darkness of her chamber, the comfort of her bed, and the golden light softening her vision she felt removed from the real world. It gave her a strength to be honest with him. Shifting her weight to kneel above him she ran both hands over his head, pulling at locks of hair, inspecting their strength and waves. 

“We have coupled in my dreams relentlessly over the years. You are the only man who has ever touched me in my dreams.” She admitted.

He was visibly taken aback. He rested a hand on the curve of her hip and said, “But what of your pretty knights? Surely an ugly cunt like me has not been the only man to enter your thoughts?”

“Oh, yes. My thoughts, my imaginings were filled with those priggish boys when I was young; but my unconscious dreams were only ever of you and, since you left me, my conscious thoughts only yours.” 

She leant forward and kissed him softly, before returning to her former position to watch his face, her hand moving to stroke the hair on his chest. She loved what she saw. He was well muscled and notched with scars. Her finger began tracing the soft silvery streaks a lifetime of combat had charted over him.

“I find it hard to fathom, little bird? If only I had known, I would not have stayed away so bloody long.” He said regretfully. “But, why me? I am surprised you can look upon my face at all, damaged as it is, let alone caress it as you do.”

“What is not to love about your face? You are a handsome man. Dark, rugged and masculine. Your beard is proof of your manliness; your virility. Your brown eyes mysterious and deep. It is true your brother marked you for life, but it adds to your character, your unmistakable uniqueness.” She said, her belief in her own words apparent.

Her finger found his nipple as she spoke, and she saw him flinch slightly, his hips giving an involuntary waver. It boosted her sense of control.

“Bah” he laughed genuinely, “To think my brother added to my looks in your eyes. That would anger him no end.” He said, pleased at the notion. “You are remarkable little bird.”

“I think I must be.” She replied. “To have a heart so loyal to a man for so long, who I had never been intimate with and who I genuinely thought I would never see again.” 

Her hand glided down the side of his warm torso, a finger sneaking under the waist of his breeches. As her finger then slid forward towards his belly it connected with his erection and he let out a low groan. Shutting his eyes, his head visibly sank further into the pillow.

She smiled to herself, enjoying her obvious power and let her finger absorb the sensation of the silky soft skin as it gently stroked his rock-hard cock. Feeling a rushing of blood to her womanhood she started breathing deeply herself. Her other hand moved to loosen the laces further, tugging strongly at them with an almost urgency.

“Would you remove your breeches?” She asked, her heart pounding in her chest. She was unsure if it was with anticipation or fear that he may refuse. 

There was no reply from him beyond his eyes shooting open and his body dropping from his side to his back. He firmly tugged the laces loose, raised his hips and pulled the breeches off in no time, pulling them out from beneath the covers and tossing them away carelessly before rolling back to his side to face her, and letting out a couple of deep breaths.

“Thank you.” She said sincerely, and again leaned forward to give him a loving kiss on the lips. 

When she leaned back up to kneel, she let her hand glide down his torso and slide under the covers, over his hip; her fingers reaching to feel the firmness of his behind. Liking what they found her hand curved behind him to caress his cheek, grabbing at the hard muscle. All the while she watched his face, fascinated by the appreciation of her touch it portrayed. Her hand continued down the back of his strong thigh, her fingers again creeping around behind it to feel the smoother skin between his legs.

His groaning was more audible when she touched him there. The soft skin more tender to sensation. Her hand came forward over his knee. Changing her angle at the wrist her thumb and forefinger traced up the inside of his leg towards his manhood. The look of anticipation on his face, despite his closed eyes, unshackled any hesitation she may otherwise have felt. When she reached the dense bush of hair her fingertips moved amongst it, her own breath audible to her with the slightest of moans. Her eyes now shut, mapping his body in her head. She felt the sack around his balls tighten against the pads of her fingers, and when her thumb and forefinger found his shaft his hand shot away from delicately kneading her hip to press hard upon his own head, as if the pressure he put against it would stop it from exploding.

Her smile was broad, her breathing steady and deep and her groin burned. She bent forward to kiss his lips, her right hand never leaving his shaft, her fingertips continuing their slow caress.

The neckline of her shift had slid from one shoulder with her movement and as she returned to upright it revealed a plump white breast, nipple taut with excitement. He opened his eyes and saw it before him. Searching for her eyes he gave her a pleading look and she gave him a short nod. 

His hand reached forward to cup it with magnetic motion, her skin burning as he did. When his fingers toyed with her nipple her head dropped back with pleasure, and when she felt his body move and his moist mouth encase it she groaned loudly. His tongue flicked her nipple with such delight that her other breast cried out in neglect.

He pulled away and touched the hem of her shift. Looking at her he said, “May I?” 

She nodded an urgent yes and lifted her arms helpfully as he pulled the shift up and over her head. She did not feel exposed by him, nor shamed at her nudity. Her only desire was that he give equal treatment to her other breast.

As if reading her mind, his hand went to it, his thumb and forefinger rolling the nipple between them firmly. Intense sparks of pleasure shot out from the peaked flesh. When his mouth took over and his beard rubbed against her she felt a wetness leak from between her legs. The urgency she felt there was strong. Contracting her muscles about it and pressing her knees together was not easing its call. In a flash she thought about whether or not she should do anything more to satisfy it, but this was no time for conscious thought.

She pushed him back on to the bed and lifted a leg over him straddling his hard cock. She rocked her hips, rubbing her wetness along his hard shaft seeking relief for the burn. His firm round knob massaging against her only made it worse and she raised herself, reaching down between her legs to take him in hand and place him at her entrance. 

His hands had come to rest upon her hips, gripping them and when she lowered herself down on to his shaft they jointly groaned in pleasure. She pushed herself down firmly on his hips, twisting slightly, her body begging to be filled by him.

“Gods Sansa!” He said, “No woman has ever felt so good.”

She knew that he spoke no lie. His appreciation of her was real. She raised herself slowly savouring the internal rub and, as she lowered herself slowly again, her face grimaced in pleasure as he travelled her depths, pressing up inside her. She quickened her efforts, raising and lowering herself repeatedly, and whilst the sensation was breathtaking it was doing nothing to sooth that call, the urgency only built. She began rocking her hips, desperate to find her pleasure. One hand clawed at his chest, but she was frustratingly lost, her breathing ragged. 

“I need more.” She begged.

He lifted her off him and rolled her on to all fours. “Stay there, little bird.” He said as he got off the bed. She felt an instant mourning at the loss of contact the moment they uncoupled. It felt as though a desert had suddenly appeared where once there was water. Her desperation for him to be inside her was once again extreme. Standing with his legs against the edge of the mattress, he reached a large hand under her belly and pulled her towards himself, lifting her hips to be opposite his. The anticipation of his return impassioned her. 

Positioning his knob at her entrance and pressing it purposefully against her he said, “Are you alright, little bird?” 

“Yes.” She said without a trace of doubt, and he drove himself forward into her wet and wanting womanhood. 

Her pleasure was audible and visible. He started a rhythmic pump.

“Yes.” She said, louder. “More.”

The sound of her voice a surprise to her ears, but she could not hold it back.

He increased his speed and pressure, one hand grasping her hip, the other putting pressure on her back, fingers reaching to entwine in her hair and grip it. Her back arching in response to him.

“Harder.” She called, and he pounded heavily into her. 

She was lost in the pleasure of it. Overwhelmed with the sparks his hard pumps produced within her core, chest and head. After several more thrusts, she could feel the peak within herself build. When her womanhood contracted about him suddenly the white-hot peak spread throughout her body. She felt him thrust deeply and stay, his manhood twitching as it released its seed in spurts.

“Fuck! Fuck!” He said loudly, distressed. “I should not have done that.” 

The panicked tension in his body apparent and fighting with the satisfaction of his release.

As the waves of her peak continued to flow over her, she reached a hand behind herself to touch his leg. “It’s no matter.” She soothed, puffing. “I wanted it. I wanted to feel your release. I wanted you. I’m happy.”

He returned to a slow probing of her as he softened, massaging her buttocks and back with gentle but strong hands, before reaching under her to find her breast and squeeze it firmly, his body curled closely over hers.

“I am happy too, little bird.” He whispered in her ear, with love in his voice. He slid out of her and dropped on to the bed beside her, pulling her against him, as his breath returned to him. “I am happy, Sansa.”

The name was still strange upon his lips. She rolled herself around to face him. Surveying him in all his naked glory. Her eyebrow raised as she watched his manhood slacken. 

“Not so scary now.” She said, gesturing towards it with a tip of her head, her warm buzz still radiating throughout her body increasing and lightening her mood.

Her hand went to the muscles at the front of his hip and soothed it. “I think I love you.” She whispered, looking up to his eyes.

He sat up on his elbows. “I am dreaming, or dead.” He said definitively. “Bastard, buggery – fuck!”

Her laugh was genuine as she sat up and kissed him passionately, forcing him back down on to the bed. His hands roaming her skin as it cooled in the night air.

After a short rest, they both stood seeking their goblets. Smirking at each other, unable to hide their delight in the situation. Having satisfied their mutual thirst, they returned to the bed and pulled the covers up, pressing their bodies against each other as they kissed again. She could feel his arms become heavy about her as they lay there together, and she knew he was drifting off to sleep. Content, she allowed herself to do the same.

She woke sometime later to the sound of him moving about the room. It was still dark outside, and the glow from the fire softer. “Are you leaving?” She asked sadly.

“I had better.” He said unenthusiastically. “We should not be found together.” He was pulling on his clothes. She stood and stepped towards him to hold him once more.

“I would rather you stayed, but I suppose we mustn’t. Will you come again tonight?” She spoke into his chest, sounding unsure.

He looked down at her, naked in his arms and put his thumb and forefinger under her chin to tilt her face towards him. “Aye, if you desire it.”

“Every night I desire it, and I have for so long.” Her face showing her dissatisfaction at him leaving. 

“Your brother would have my head, if not my balls if I stayed. I would like nothing better than to wake with you every morning, but for now I will come whenever I am able to do so without shattering your honour, for so long as you want me to.” He kissed her gently. 

“Now come. Bolt this door behind me. I want no other bastard making his way to you.” He said as he patted her bottom.

She smiled at his possessiveness, and made her way to hide behind the door as he slid the bolt open. 

“I shall see you when the castle awakes, and it will be a buggering battle larger than I have ever fought to keep my hands and eyes from you.” He whispered, enjoying a final kiss before carefully opening the door and exiting the room.

She felt a trickle of his seed weep down her leg as she made her way back to bed. She thought about attending to washing herself there, but was not yet ready to let go of him. Instead she climbed under the covers and replayed his touches in her mind, whilst drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your time. Please leave a comment - I love hearing reader's thoughts. Let me know if you read my other story.


	3. Chapter 3

“It is me, m’lady. Should I leave you?” Ellyn was quietly knocking on the door and speaking softly.

“No.” Sansa called out. “Give me but a moment!” 

She looked around the room for evidence of her evening’s companionship. Seeing the two goblets she quickly returned them to a table by the wall. There were no other signs of the night before, and a part of her mourned it. The night had been momentous, yet here mere hours later there was no proof of the change that had swept over her. She sniffed her arm in the hope of finding a hint of him still there, an essence upon her skin, as she threw on her shift and dressing gown. Hurrying to the door she gave herself the briefest of moments to compose herself, sucking in two deep breaths before opening it.

“I am sorry, m’lady.” Ellyn said apologetically, her eyes unable to meet her mistress. “I know you said you would sleep late this morning, it is just that the men in the tower have seen what they think are dragons on the horizon. I thought you would want to greet your brother?” She said, looking uneasy and sounding flustered at having disturbed her mistress.

“It’s alright, Ellyn. Come, ready me.” Sansa said brightly, shutting the door. “There is no time to bathe properly now, instead could you please have a bath awaiting me before bed this evening? I will bathe myself then, you needn’t stay for it. You should go instead and enjoy the company of the many guests who will no doubt spend the evening in the great hall.”

“Really, m’lady?” The girl said excitedly.

“Certainly.” Sansa replied.

Thinking ahead, the girl had brought with her an ewer of warm water, so her mistress could wash. Sansa sat restlessly as her long hair was brushed and braided at her temples. She was beginning to be laced into her gown with growing apprehension. It had felt an age since her brother had been at Winterfell. She’d handled her position ably in his absence and wondered if his return would see a decline in her responsibilities or value to him. An horrific screeching, startled both Sansa and Ellyn. It curdled their blood in an instant.

“I really don’t think I want to see the dragons.” The young girl said apprehensively, alarmed tears forming in her eyes.

Sansa nodded. “It is frightening and hard to conceive, but they will be valuable weapons in our battle. I trust my brother’s judgment in his alliance with the Queen, and you must find it within yourself to do so too.”

There was another knock at the door, and Ellyn went to see who it was. 

Stepping in and surveying the scene, Arya quickly said “You may go Ellyn. I will finish lacing my sister.” 

Sansa confirmed the instruction with a nod, and the girl swiftly left, ewer in hand. Arya started pulling at the laces, she was not as nimble at the task as Ellyn, but was making a fair attempt. 

“Bran and I spoke last night.” She began, “I know we had agreed that Jon should know his parentage, but we feel in the current situation it is perhaps better to wait a while? To see how dedicated the Queen is to the new battle plan. Without her support, all could be lost.” She puffed out a breath in frustration. “Neither Bran nor I wish to withhold it from him, but the situation is delicate. Will you support us on this?”

Sansa turned and looked at her sister, her brow gently furrowed. “For how long must we keep it secret?” She said.

“Perhaps a day, maybe until after the battle? We will judge the situation as it unfolds.” Arya replied, fiddling with a caught lace. “If you agree we must speak to Jon’s friend Samwell quickly. Bran has gone to him to stop him from greeting Jon.”

Briefly considering the matter, Sansa said “It is no doubt for the greater good. We have all the north and country to think of. Jon will surely understand the delay when we do tell him?” Her tone implying that she was not completely sure of her words. 

Arya nodded, despite her sister being unable to see it. Giving a final flourish as she tied off the laces, she made for the door saying, “I must run then. I will see you in the courtyard?” A question in her voice.

“Yes” Sansa called, as she pulled on her cloak and shoulder fur. She lay her hands upon her gloves and headed for the courtyard. 

The enormous spikey beasts, grotesque but beautiful, had landed outside the gates of the castle, as too many people milled around within the courtyard in a great commotion. Sansa arrived in time to see her brother’s black cloak make its way through the crowd, the beautiful figure of the Queen of Dragons alongside him, wearing an elegant white and silver fur dress with long splits from hem to thigh revealling practical breeches beneath it. Arya will like her, Sansa thought. The Queen was captivating to the eye. She was tiny and possessed an extreme feminine beauty that oozed confidence. Her hair was so blonde that it was white, and she wore it in a style so elaborately sculpted with braids that Sansa wondered how long she sat in a chair each morning to achieve it. Her exotic beauty made Sansa feel plain for quite possibly the first time ever.

She hurried along the gallery and waved out to Jon. He raised his arm when he saw her. “Meet me inside.” He called, adding “My chambers!” 

She nodded and spun around to make her way there, her cloak twisting and floating like a dark storm cloud as she did. Bumping into Arya once inside, she said cautiously, “Did you reach Samwell in time?” 

Arya nodded. “He agreed.” She whispered. 

“Good.” Sansa replied. “I am on my way to Jon’s chambers, at his request. I suspect he wishes a moment alone with family before confronting the lords.” 

“Then I shall fetch Bran and see you there.” Arya said, already moving to do so. The excitement on her face at the prospect of seeing her favourite sibling, a stark contrast to her usual measured demeanour.

The three were gathered restlessly awaiting him. When Jon finally entered the room, his face had been a confusing mix of bleak and joyful. He allowed the joy to overtake him when his dark eyes met those of his cherished youngest sister. Arya launched herself at him and they laughed joyfully, his hands on her shoulders shaking them in disbelief that she was near and grown. He moved his fingers to her sword’s hilt as if needing to confirm to himself that it was truly her. 

Arya in turn, allowed emotion to moisten her eyes, so grateful she was to be reunited with a brother who had always understood and supported her. 

Bran was his now typical quiet, withdrawn self - so changed by his experience beyond the wall. He had been a rambunctious boy before the calamitous fall that not only impacted his spine, but his future; and been angered and serious since. His time past the wall had dissolved his anger at his predicament, but also zapped him of his personality. He seemed more spiritual than human at times.

Crouching to be eye level with him where he sat, Jon rested his hand lovingly upon his shoulder. Bran spoke with him intently, seriously, but showed little emotional response. Sansa accepted a hug from her brother, their relationship having softened since their parents’ death. She appreciated his return more deeply than she had thought possible, now that she held him in her arms. Jon himself seemed quite changed, as if he had grown in confidence in his time away, sure of his leadership and strength.

“It saddens me that there is no time for family at this moment, but battle plans must come first. I have called an urgent meeting to discuss the grave situation which is upon us, but I am very glad of this small chance to lay eyes upon you all in private. We have spent far too many years apart. We have all lost far too much.” Jon said genuinely.

They exited the room before they all became too reflective. As she walked alongside Jon to the council room, Sansa relayed all she had achieved in his absence. She told him of her recent fruitful meeting which had hatched a further plan, and briefly outlined it to him. 

“Good.” He said. “You have done very well. I knew you would.” His dark eyes shining at her with pride.

They entered the room to find everyone awaiting them, with the exception of Tyrion and the Queen who were on their way, having had their own private meeting whilst Jon greeted his family.

When the Queen entered the room all present rose in silence, but for the sound of numerous chair-legs scraping on the floor. Sansa was unsure if the immediate hush that had fallen upon the room was out of respect for a royal, or wonderment at the beauty that stood before them. Jorah Mormont took excessive pride in introducing her, “Daenerys Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Queen of …”, listing her extensive titles in an authoritative tone. 

Jon, having reserved a seat for her next to him, looked solemn as he pushed her chair towards the table whilst she lowered herself on to it. She’d been given pride of place on an impressive large chair that had lately been gifted to John. Made of dark stained timber, its tall back was carved with images of direwolves and snow iced trees. Each armrest ended with an intricately carved rendition of an open-mouthed wolf bearing its teeth in aggression. Tyrion, as Hand of the Queen, sat at her other side. Once the three were comfortably seated, those who had the honour of a place at the table sat, whilst the remainder of the crowded room stood at attention. 

Jon spoke first. “I trust you have had a chance to tell the Queen of the outcome of your meeting yesterday, Lord Tyrion?”

“Yes, indeed.” he replied, giving a short nod.

“Good.” Jon continued, “I consider that plan sound, save for what the Queen and I have discovered during our exploration north.” A worried countenance about him. 

He continued, “As you all know, a dragon died north of the wall when attempting to rescue our party during a recent sortie. It was thought that dragon, Viserion, was lost for good as it died before sinking into a deep ice lake.” 

He looked around the room at the faces following his every word. His voice dropping a tone as he spoke intensely, “We have learnt that the Night King has somehow raised the dragon from the lake bed and it lives again, undead.” 

The seriousness of his words was reflected in the horror which flashed over the now agitated gathering. 

“It is a fearsome creature and breathes not fire, but ice. It is powerful sorcery, and has shattered the wall. East Watch by the Sea is destroyed. The enemy marches forward. One hundred thousand men, creatures and white walkers, or more.” He waited a moment for the power of his words to take hold.

Solemnly he said, “We could not establish if there were any survivors at East Watch. A search will have to wait.”

His countenance changing, he said “We landed and observed the army from a very great distance, and waited until nightfall to return. The Night King rides Viserion. He appears to circle above his army, not venturing ahead of them, but that could change. The hoard is slow moving, but it moves ever forward.” He again waited for those gathered to take in his words.

“What do you think of the plan which has been formulated in our absence, my Queen?” He said, turning to Daenerys.

She looked around the room, royal in every sense, undisturbed by the weight upon her. “I believe it may be the only defence we have. To move our armies north towards them weakens us. Travel in snow is not easy, and my own armies are unused to the cold. Feeding and sheltering our soldiers is more difficult on the move. It would seem prudent, if not necessary, that we stay and defend Winterfell, and attempt to burn them out before they reach us.” 

She looked down upon the map stretched out before her on the table. “When my khalasar arrives, it could perhaps move on to here, the Dreadfort, with a local battalion who know the area, to mount an attack from there?” She said, her finger indicating movements on the map. 

“They could prepare another fire wall. It has the potential to weaken our enemy further before they reach the bulk of our forces.” She added.

Rumblings of agreement filled the room. Ordinarily, Lords are never so easily won over, nor lacking in their own opinion or desire to lead, but with an opponent like none they had ever envisaged, no-one was prepared to go against what became an increasingly obvious plan.

Tyrion spoke, “I believe all forces should begin training with the new weapons. The weight of the arrowheads is no doubt new to our archers. Fighting with dragon glass spears and daggers will be a vastly different experience. A flaming torch is now of more use than regular steel.” He said, clearly frustrated at the thought.

Gathering authority in his voice he said, “Anyone capable of producing new weaponry should be set to task. They need not be pretty examples of workmanship, but we will need as many as we can make. No man, woman or child should be left without a dragon glass dagger in their hand. Every living person has value in this war, be they soldier, bastard, beggar or broken thing.” 

As he finished, a call of “hear, hear” reverberated around the room, and feet stomped in a thundering roll beneath the table.

Tyrion cleared his throat to regain the floor. “May I suggest we break into smaller committees? A final decision on whether the khalasar or another army move on to the Dreadfort should be made promptly. The sooner an army departs to it the better.”

The meeting continued as organisations were agreed upon and committees appointed. Jon and Daenerys, being the only dragon riders, formed their own small committee with Tyrion. Together they mapped out plans for shepherding the army of the dead with flame. As they talked, the gravity of the situation was palpable between them. 

It was decided that several archers would also ride on the backs of the dragons to protect Jon and Dany from attack. Their safety was paramount. If either of them were to be maimed or killed it was equal to losing a dragon itself. No other person possessed the affinity to guide the beasts. If, whilst offering protection, the archers were to target white walkers their companies of dead would fall with them. Any beneficial impact they were able to make on the petrifying hoard was vital.

Deciding that the two dragon riders would work in unison, one spreading flame whilst the other covered its back from attack from the Night King, the three architects of destruction spent the morning scrutinizing maps, establishing the best wooded areas to mount assaults. If they played their hand too soon, or reveal its scale too large, the Night King could fly ahead of his army to destroy Winterfell, leaving the rest of the country vulnerable without defence.

By the afternoon Bran had been invited to join their committee, the group having realised his abilities as a warg would prove useful to watch the dead approach from safety as easily as a bird in a tree. It was risky, as the Night King could feel Bran’s presence when he was too near, and Bran felt the transformation fatiguing, never quite fully returning to himself after an extended possession, but Bran insisted he was capable of the task.

Sansa had not been assigned to any particular group, instead she continued in her role overseeing all, but now with Davos working alongside and advising her. As intermediaries, they could see where one group may help another and report to Jon and Dany.

It was with relief that Sansa entered her chambers that evening to see Ellyn had placed the tub before the fire. The stress of her position was taking a toll. The maid abandoned her task of ferrying buckets of water, leaving her assistant to finish the job, and instead set about unlacing Sansa’s gown. 

“Could you have someone fetch me a supper of cheese and bread please, on your way past the kitchen Ellyn? Another carafe of wine would be nice too. And, have them send it immediately, I don’t wish to be disturbed once I set foot in the bath.” Sansa instructed.

“Of course, m’lady.” Ellyn replied.

“Perhaps I will have my sleep-in tomorrow?” Sansa said wistfully. 

“A half-hour later in the morning please.” She said, smiling sweetly at the girl, adding “Enjoy your evening, but be careful. There are all types milling about the castle.”

The girl smiled. “Thank you, m’lady. I will.” She said, before adding “sleep well” and quickly exiting the room.

By the time the bath was ready a young boy had arrived with the supper tray. She thanked him as she extinguished the candles in the room and bolted the door as he left. Ridding herself of her dressing gown, she twisted her hair into a loose knot on top of her head, securing it with a pin. The tension of the day melted as she stepped into the steaming tub and immersed herself. Closing her eyes, she leaned back to relax, and was almost asleep when she heard a quiet tapping on the door.

Excited, she climbed out the bath not bothering to dry herself, slid her arms into her dressing gown and opened the door. Her delight was obvious when she saw him, and he quickly entered. Bolting the door behind them, he leaned down to give her a gentle kiss.

“Wet for me already.” He teased, raising an eyebrow, and rubbing a large hand over her bottom.

Smiling at his jest she said, “It’s for you really, the bath. I thought with so many people in the castle you wouldn’t get a chance to bathe properly, facilities being stretched as they are. The water is still warm.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, little bird.” He said. “Or did I offend your nose last night?” 

She shook her head. “I like the smell of you.” She said truly.

“You’ve not been with me when I remove armour. That would offend you. A putrid rat smells better.” He grinned and reached over his head, pulling his tunic off by its neck.

Watching him strip, she smiled to herself when his breeches came off, before reaching for a towel to dry herself. Her dressing gown wet, she took it off and lay it over the back of a chair in front of the fire.

“Would you like wine?” She asked. “I have some cheese for you as well.”

He sighed as he sunk into the large wooden tub, the water sloshing over the edge and splashing on to the floor, the maids not having anticipated the bulk of a clandestine occupant. He let out a low guttural rumble as he said, “This is mighty good.” 

Remembering her offer, he added “Aye, I will have wine.” 

He watched her pour the wine, and reached for her bare behind when she passed the goblet to him. “You are a joy to behold, my lady.” He said, squeezing her cheek.

She curtsied at the compliment, holding invisible skirts in her fingertips as she slid a leg daintily behind the other and dipped down to honour him.

The warmth of the water soothed his tired muscles, and he felt torn. “I want to get at you, but this is too nice to abandon.” He said, his eyes reflecting his vexation.

“Don’t hurry yourself. I can wait.” She said moving to stand in front of the fire. The glow behind her creating a soft aura around her curves. 

“I want to wash my hair.” He said, “But, people will notice if I am suddenly shiny.” 

She looked at him considering it. “I am sure you could put your head under the water. It wouldn’t be as obvious as if I lathered it for you.” 

He repositioned himself to tip his head forward and soak his hair. Flicking it back, he made himself comfortable again and took a large slug of wine. “May I have some of that cheese now, please?” 

She pranced across the cold floors on tip toes to get him some. The coldness of the stone seemingly increased by her time in front of the fire. Handing him a chunk, she broke off a small piece to nibble at herself.

“I could get used to being treated like this.” He said.

She looked at him meaningfully. “I hope you do.” She replied, “We may all be doomed.”

“Let’s not talk of it, little bird.” He said. “In this room, it is you and me. The bloody Night King can be a myth.”

“Agreed.” She said, reaching for a small stool and placing it next to the tub. Sitting down side-on to him but facing him, she put her hand in the water to touch his leg.

He looked at her dubiously, “I thought you wanted me to relax in here a while?” You’ll have me out of here soon if you touch me like that.” He said good naturedly.

“I just like being near.” She said, looking into his dark handsome eyes. “Take your time.”

“I like you being near.” He replied, his voice a low rumble as he spoke. “It has been bloody difficult today, to keep my distance from you. I want to shut the door on the fucking world and inhale you.”

She leaned forward to kiss him. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, but was full of love and longing. “Today I’ve wondered why we have to be secret? This is my family castle after all, and there is no-one above me to tell me what to do, or how to be. Who is there to mind if I took you as a lover openly?”

Looking aghast, he said “Your brother! Let’s not give him reason to avoid swinging his sword should he see an opponent approach me from behind. Besides, isn’t it enjoyable to have this to ourselves? To know we have each other and no one to comment on it, telling us it is wrong?” 

Wrinkling her nose, she said “You could be right.” 

“Could be, little bird?” He said almost choking on his wine and the words. “Have you had too much wine? You know no-one would accept you being with a low-born, even if only as a lover. Can you imagine what would be said about Sansa Stark and the Hound?” 

She growled, “The Hound.” Her eyes sparkling, she smirked as she said, “It is a very erotic nom de plume.”

“Gods woman! I’ve never heard it mentioned in those terms before.” He said shocked.

Together they had a natural comfort in each other’s presence, a mutual trust not shared with anyone else. They sat enjoying the wine and peace of the room for a while.

Standing abruptly, water cascading down his body, he said “Now hand me a towel and take me to bed.” 

She took a towel and, rather than handing it to him, she set about carefully drying him herself. His torso dry, he stepped out of the bath. She delicately crouched before him to dry between his legs and saw that he was beginning to harden. His cock engorging as her eyes were transfixed upon it.

Seeing her look at him he said, “Don’t fear. Just because I have had you once, I claim no right to you. It is always your choice if we couple.”

“Oh, no. You mistake me. I was staring in a good way – not a fearful way. You are quite a man.” Winking at him as she stood. Pulling the pin from her hair, she released her locks to tumble down her shoulders.

Embracing her he said, “My comment stands nonetheless, and you can rest assured I shall be more careful this time. I’ll not put my seed within you again.”

“No.” She said firmly, miffed and pulling away from him. “I want your pleasure in me.”

Concerned, he said “But, what if I give you a bastard?”

A sadness flowed over her face and she replied, “I think it unlikely. No seed has taken before.” 

She stood silent for a moment thinking. “If it did, would you not claim it? Legitimise it with your name?”

“Of course, I would.” He said genuinely, “But people would still talk. Still disrespect you for it.”

Adamantly she said, “I don’t wish to see you spill your seed upon the floor. All of you is for me.” Before softening her tone and adding, “If you will give it?”

He stepped towards her again, bending his head down to kiss her, lifting her on to his hips, her legs locking around his waist. He walked towards the bed and when he got there, thrust her down upon it. She giggled when she landed on the soft feather mattress and beckoned him with a finger. Putting one knee on the bed beside her he leaned over her and kissed her firmly. 

Their kiss increased in passion, their tongues dancing an intoxicating caper. He pulled away to run gentle kisses and bites along the side of her neck and over her breast. Taking his time to lick and suckle both. She bucked as he did so, her hands flowing over the warm skin of his shoulders. Her nipples were stiff against the flicks of his tongue, unashamedly displaying their want. Continuing his kisses down her ribs and over her stomach, his tongue circled her belly-button and she writhed in delight, her soft laughter emanating freely. 

When his face met her mound, he rubbed his nose in amongst the mass of red and golden curls, moaning to himself in pleasure as he did so. He gently parted her legs and began kissing her folds, giving them long languid licks, breathing deeply enjoying the heady scent of her. Gently sucking a fold into his mouth, he gave it the lightest of bites before continuing to lap and suck her lovingly. 

Her hands were gripping his head, as her fingers entangled in his hair, wavering between pulling him away and pushing him deeper; lost in the sensation and struggling to take the shock waves coursing through her as he gently licked her tender nub and sucked it ever so delicately. High pitch squeals escaped her, the sound increasing her own fervour.

His tongue ventured deeper into her folds. He was clearly relishing the taste of her. Her hips rolled of their own volition, and he dipped his tongue inside her, exploring her as deeply as he could. Lifting his head for breath his beard was glistening. With his eyes locked on hers he raised his hand to sweep her juices into his mouth with his broad palm. She had never seen anything so utterly pleasing, so stimulating to her own desire; The Hound with his beard so covered in her lust and taking it into his mouth. 

With an enormous cocky grin, he asked, “May I have you my lady?”

She propped herself up on to her elbows to better take in the vision of him. The tip of his long stiff cock glistened in anticipation. The sight of it standing to attention, in desperate need of her, drew her hand towards it. 

Her finger played with his arousal drop. The firm, yet spongey, smooth knob delighting her slippery fingertip. She wrapped her hand securely around his hot shaft and began stroking it up and down, his own hand briefly folding over hers to show her the rhythm. The vision of him lost under her spell thrilled her. Her womanhood throbbed violently. She placed her other hand around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. 

Their lusty kiss as she stroked fuelled her and she uttered, “Yes.” The word seeping out in an animalistic rumble.

Releasing her hold on him she lay back on the bed, and he bent down over her, one forearm taking his weight, the other hand bracing his cock. He gently rubbed it between her folds, her juices quickly enrobing him and making the rod slip tantalizingly amongst her. She was feeling desperate and pushed her hips towards it. 

The satisfaction when he finally pushed himself inside her was sublime. She wanted to close her eyes and fall into the sensations, but she forced herself to watch his face. It was peaceful with his own satisfaction. Her hand reached up to rest on his jaw, his beard sensual as it brushed her palm. His expression became intently serious as he began to thrust. 

Their breathing already shallow, increased in pace together, her breasts bursting as her nipples grazed against him. He began to pump harder, more urgently and her desire quickly sought its peak. He stopped momentarily to reposition himself. Dragging her hips into the air, he was standing upon his knees on the bed. He lifted her legs over his shoulders, leaning his torso forward, one hand pushing into the bed beside her, taking his weight. 

She gripped hold of his arm, steadying herself against the power of his thrusts as he filled her more deeply and she moaned as each one hit home. The pounding was so hard it was almost painful; but it was better, so much better to be on that cusp. Her peak had built again, and when she felt it detonate her mind went white. Two more thrusts and he joined her, his cock twitching within her. Her release continued to pulse through her being and she felt the involuntary tugs in her core as her body milked him of his seed. 

He made to move, but she could not take it. She gripped his arm and her knees clutched his head, communicating her need to remain still. 

Several breaths later she felt her fingers relax, “You can move now.” She said, but, when he did another pulse hit her and she gripped him again. 

“A moment. I need a moment.” She pleaded.

When he finally slid out of her and lay her hips back on the bed, all she could do was curl on to her side and breathe. 

“Are you alright, little bird?” He whispered, concerned.

She nodded, her eyes firmly shut. A moment later she said, “Exquisitely alright.” 

He curled up behind her, breathing in her scent. “I thought I’d hurt you.” He said, still a little concerned.

“Far from it.” She said. “Far, far from it.” Still unwilling to communicate as her body hummed in delight. 

When they later climbed under the covers, he lay on his back and she snuggled into his side. There was the distinctive aroma of sex between them. Their muskiness filled her nostrils and her skin still tingled. She was happier than she had ever been. The heat of his skin, giving her a deep sense of belonging. 

“Will you stay longer tonight?” She asked hopefully.

“A little.” He replied. He was used to being able to will-himself awake. His years of soldiering had taught him to rest deeply, and briefly, when time allowed. 

Quietly she asked, “Will you have me again before you leave?”

He kissed her forehead, replying “If you insist.” Smiling knowingly, he said “I’d have you every hour of the day if I could.”

Content with his answer she kissed his chest and let herself drift into sleep.

She was dreaming of the Hound. He’d come to her tall and ominous, radiating passion in the heart of a dark wood. She’d been wary of him at first, but the mystic shadow in his eye had spoken to her soul and she’d willingly moved towards him. He’d thrust her to the forest floor, the soft leaf litter cushioning her fall, and was taking his pleasure. Kissing her and fondling her breasts, she felt the pang of disappointment at the dawning realisation it was only a dream. Becoming more alert, she registered her dream was in fact based in truth. His head was nuzzling her belly and she reached forward to grasp it and bring his lips to hers.

“Good morning, my love.” She said, as she pulled his face closer.

She loved the taste of his mouth, she thought as their tongues probed each other. It was unmistakably that of a man, of her man. 

When he pulled away from their kiss he quietly rumbled, “We cannot be long.” 

She felt his hand begin to massage her folds as he leaned above her. Looking deeply into her eyes he said, “I don’t believe you are real. That this is real. I have yearned to touch you for so long, I can’t believe my hands are upon you.”

Her breath caught as his long strokes of her folds turned into squeezing rolls. His thumb and forefinger doing an erotic dance. He dipped a finger inside her to moisten it and stroked her again, this time finding her nub. She wanted to kiss him so badly, but even more she did not want his finger to lose the delightful rhythm it had found in the minute rubs. Her back began arching, her breathing became shallow.

She was aware he was watching her face in the dark. She felt possessed by him. Her release was calling, her legs stiffened willing it, her feet flexing in need. When he leaned down and aggressively sucked her breast it hit, the spark and warmth radiating out from his hand. The peak was not as powerful as when it came from her core, but its difference made it no less equal. She panted as she opened her eyes. He was above her now, his knees pushing between hers to find his place, his arms either side of her, his beautiful face above her asking with his dark eyes.

She nodded her head and he pushed himself inside her. Her hands reached up to his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss, and he began his beat. The thrusts were perfect, a steady pace and depth. She opened her eyes to see him watching her again, intent on her pleasure. She found herself letting out small sounds. He quickened his pace in response. 

“Deeper” she said. 

He pulled out, quickly flipping her over and she got on all fours, tilting her bottom towards him and gathering the pillows underneath herself. He slid back in and she groaned. His work began in earnest and he pounded her heavily, the sounds she released louder as he met her need with each thrust. Until it was right there, that peak from her core, it was so close it hurt. She feared it would not come. To have it so near and not reach it was an incalculable torment. It hit, and she collapsed, sinking boneless into her soft pillow nest. 

She felt him pull out, his spurts of hot cum on her back, his strong hand massaging it into her skin, squeezing her buttocks; she loved it. His seed slick upon her skin, his love in his caress. She could feel his shaft still hard rubbing against her cheeks as her peak flowed over her in waves still. He leaned down, sweeping her hair aside and rained kisses on her shoulders. 

“I must go now, my love.” He whispered. “Go back to sleep.” 

He climbed from the bed and pulled a blanket over her. She was immersed in her own sensations. She wanted to go to him, to kiss him goodbye, but all she could manage was to turn her head and watch him dress before the fire. He smiled a content smile, a knowing smile. 

“Will I come to you again tonight?” He asked unnecessarily.

“Yes.” She said, dreamily “You know, the answer is yes.” 

“Aye, lass. I know.” Smiling sweetly, he walked to her and kissed her goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

Davos was an interesting man to be around. From a humble background, his bravery and common sense had helped him rise in society to a position of trust. If one could do it, so could another - she thought, as she made her way with him along the gallery to watch the sparring below. Weapon training was well underway. 

She was surprised to look out and see Arya and Sandor training together. Arya twisted and rolled from his lunges with sweeps like a dancer or circus performer. They were clearly keeping score. Halting, and staring one another down, with a dagger or spear held at an organ or throat. Sandor, being more used to a longsword, clearly preferred the spear but was equally skilled with the dagger. 

It was obvious he found amusement in some of her methods, but he was put in his place when Arya flipped herself up on one hand, planting a two-footed kick on his chest. Knocked from his feet, he landed heavily on his back. Arya had quickly scampered on top of him to straddle his hips and hold a dagger at his throat. Sansa felt a burn of jealousy to see her sister sit in such a way. Arya had dismounted quickly, but the burn in Sansa remained. She knew it was illogical. There was nothing in their contact beyond sparring, but his touch was still warm upon her own skin, leaving her feeling territorial.

For the past two days, she would see him in the distance and her mind would drift momentarily to a fond caress. Her body would flush at the memory and she’d even been questioned about her wellbeing, when the burn of her skin had shown on her face. 

Sandor roughly bested Arya in retaliation for the humiliation, and although Arya’s face remained neutral you could see in her eyes that she was not well pleased. Neither seemed to be far ahead of the other in points, and they were both clearly enjoying the match. When Arya’s weapon nicked Sandor’s face, drawing a trickle of blood from his cheek, his eyes had been murderous, before quickly clearing to humour. His rumbling laughter was filling the air, but Arya was not watching his face; her eyes were for her sister and she smiled to herself when she saw a dark look loom over Sansa. 

When Sansa had later found herself alone in a passage with Sandor walking towards her, she had stepped into the shadows encouragingly. He’d joined her there, a passionate kiss ensuing.

“We can’t be here, little bird” he’d said in a gravelly whisper, his body pressed firmly against her.

“I know.” She breathed, kissing him again and twisting out from between him and the wall, allowing Sandor to step into the void she created and lean against it. Her hand went to his cheek, her finger so near to his new wound. 

“It is just to see my sister so near you, upon you, I ...” She couldn’t find the words, her disturbance written on her face. Her other hand ran down his torso, her wrist twisting to reach under his tunic. Her fingers soaked in the warmth of his skin and it warmed her in her core as she began playing with the streak of hair that ran down from his belly button.

“Oh, I see.” He whispered, a knowing smile upon his face. 

They kissed once more, and she sighed as she stepped back into the passage. She gave him a look of longing from where she stood, and he hunched his shoulders as if to say, there is nothing I can do. Twisting her mouth, trying to rid herself of her annoyance, she set off down the passage.

When they dined that evening, Arya saw him enter the hall and beckoned him over. “Sit with me Clegane.” She said.

Sansa watched them out of the corner of her eye from several seats away. Arya’s conversation was so easy with him. It flowed with mutual interests and jest, despite the other’s natural aversion to communication. Sansa longed to enjoy him so publicly herself. She was relieved when Tyrion joined her. His company was always diverting. 

Eventually she bid them all goodnight, and returned to her room. Sometime later she heard a quiet knock and eagerly went to the door. Surprised to see Arya standing there when she opened it, her face clearly reflected it. Arya looked like a cat who had got the cream.

“You weren’t expecting me, were you?” She purred as she entered the room.

Quickly gathering herself Sansa replied matter-of-factly, “How could I, you did not tell me you were coming?” 

Arya’s grin broadened, “That is true, but I feel sure you were expecting someone.” Her eyes squinting accusatorily.

“No.” Sansa replied, her tone measured and her face now expressionless. 

Arya sighed. Sweetly she said, “Is there nothing you wish to tell me dear sister? You have no burden to share?”

Sansa looked perplexed. “None that I can think of.” She replied.

“Oh.” Said Arya, seemingly disappointed. “I had a notion, that you perhaps had a love.”

Sansa’s eyes shot open. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You forget sister. I am trained to observe, to notice the smallest of things.” Arya said, with mischief, “You needn’t fear. I shall not share the knowledge.”

A quiet knock interrupted them, but before Sansa could say a word Arya had sprung to the door, opening it. Sandor stepped into the room. Then it dawned on him, that the door had opened even though Sansa stood feet away from it. As it shut behind him, he turned to see Arya grinning broadly.

“I knew it!” She said. “You two, really should be more careful.”

“Whatever do you mean?” He said gruffly, despite knowing she understood his purpose.

“You must still call her little bird.” She said seriously. “You avoid one another too much. I am not the only observant person about.” Before adding with a grin, “Staying late in the great hall on occasion would kill neither of you, although I am sure you’d both prefer to get to bed.”

“Really Arya! You imagine things.” Sansa said, her mouth stern.

Sandor looked at the two sisters. Resignedly he said, “Sansa, is there any point?”

Arya burst out laughing. “No, my friend there is not. I shall leave you both to your night time amusements.” She gave a low bow, and made for the door. 

Bolting it, he said “Will she tell your brother?” 

“No.” Sansa replied confidently. “She enjoys secrets.”

“Then, I shall stay a while, but I am not sure how long we can continue. She’s right, people notice things.” He said solemnly.

“Let them notice.” She said emphatically. “I am sure my bed is not the only one in the castle with a guest. We live in strange times. Rules of behaviour fall at our feet.” She finished.

“I like your confidence Sansa, but you may regret it when we come out the other side of this war.” Looking at her meaningfully, he added “You may regret attaching yourself to me on any level.” 

“Ugh.” The sound escaped her in sudden frustration. “What must I do or say to have you believe that you are who I want, and all I will ever want. Must I go down on my knees?” She dropped to the ground before him, clutching the back of his legs and looking up at him. 

“I vow to you here, now and for always that your birth, position in life and history bother me not.” She said, without hesitation.

“Stand up little bird, I have no wish to see you crawl.” He said, pulling her to her feet. “I know what you feel is love for me. For many years I have felt the same for you. I am simply aware of your position, and the influence of society.” He said in a low tone.

Miffed, she replied “No more aware than I. The difference between us is that I do not care.”

His face imploring her he said, “You are so very young still. I cannot put you in a position where your reputation is damaged.”

She stood angry. “Ugh! I am not so young that I could not be sold-off for wicked gain twice-over. I refuse to be part of that game. I am my own person. My decisions are my own to make, and I will make them for myself.” She turned away from him to gather her thoughts. 

Turning back, her expression certain and authoritative, she said “You will stay with me tonight for the entire night, or you will not return.” 

Her ultimatum hung between them. Finally, he spoke. “Is there no negotiating with you? Is it not best for us both if I leave you now and we each think deeply upon it? I shall come again tomorrow night, and if you still feel that way I will give you my answer.”

Tears were gathering in her eyes at the thought he may refuse her, but she turned her head to gaze into the fire, so he would not see. “You may go, and bring me your answer tomorrow.” She said evenly. 

It pained him to leave her upset, but he did leave nonetheless.

She sunk to the ground as soon as the door shut. He had given her such happiness in the short time they had connected. More than she had felt in her lifetime. To comprehend a life without him near, without his touch, and worse to never touch him again, was more than she could imagine. It was overwhelming. 

The night was long, and as she lay in bed her mind raced. She began to wonder if she had misinterpreted him. Had she read more from his looks and words than was there? It was undeniable that she was a vulnerable person. She wondered if he had preyed upon it and, having had what he wanted, willed this situation to escape her? Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she cried herself into a fitful sleep.

With the morning light, her strength arrived and her faith in his love returned. She put on her mask of authority and went about her day. Battle preparations were moving forward constantly. Dothraki warriors were yet to arrive at Winterfell, but they were expected within the next few days, the Unsullied shortly thereafter. Local men had formed a battalion and moved on to the Dreadfort to commence preparations. Weapon production had increased. Camps were being established outside the walls of the castle as space within was at a premium. 

Her day had been long and stressful, and she had arrived somewhat late to the great hall to eat. She saw him there, his face giving no indication of what was to come. Her stomach dropped. Could she have already touched his lips for the final time? Would she never again feel the heat of his body next to hers? To see him and not know was torture. In no mood for company, she decided to gather a plate of food and retire to her room. Sending a serving boy ahead of her to her chambers to deliver her meal, she set about bidding goodnight to those around her.

As she walked past Sandor she felt his hand grab her wrist. Looking down at him, she did not hide her shadow of sadness, he released her immediately. As if her pain burned him.

“Is your mind set, little bird? Do you offer no other solution?” He lowly rumbled, his dark eyes trained upon hers.

“There is no change in my stance.” She said unequivocally. “If you have no other questions of me, I shall retire. Good evening to you.”

She could feel his gaze upon her back as she walked the length of the great hall. Moisture gathered in her eyes as she turned to look back at the table. He was gone, and she felt a physical pain in her chest. The bustle of the crowded room was white noise to her ears, no specific sound reaching her. She felt ill, but then became aware of a presence, a shadow beside her.

Her heart jumped when she realised it was him. “Shall we go?” He smiled, palm up in anticipation.

The breath drained from her in a rush, and a tear ran down her face. Quickly brushing it aside, she lay her hand in his. “Yes.” She said, giving him a gentle smile as he squeezed her hand. 

Together they walked to her chambers. Laughter spluttering from them as they went, as sagacious smiles were exchanged. They were still smiling broadly when they pushed open the door. Surprising Ellyn, her face reddened when she saw the Hound. 

“Your meal is there, m’lady.” She spluttered, pointing to a table. 

“Thank you.” Sansa said. “You may go now Ellyn. In the morning, have Clegane’s belongings brought to my chambers. Henceforth, he will be residing with me.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “Yes, m’lady.” She said, as she backed towards the door.

“You need not keep the knowledge to yourself, Ellyn.” Sansa added.

The girl, looking perplexed, replied “I do not gossip about you, m’lady.” 

“Of course, you do not. I am not suggesting that you would. I am merely informing you that there is no call for discretion. All in the castle will soon know that Clegane is here with me, for me, and you needn’t fret about revealing it.”

The girl nodded and bid them goodnight.

As the door shut, Sandor said “Well, that’s done then. How long do you think we have until your brother is banging on the door screaming about my fucking balls?”

“I don’t know.” She replied, “But, I have no intention of being brief with you.” Her hands reaching to push his tunic up and over his head.

He rumbled a happy laugh as he bent down to kiss her. 

Smiling at each other in an embrace, Sansa said “I have worried myself sick since you left me last night. I thought I would never touch you again.” Shaking her head to rid herself of the emotion of the thought.

“I did contemplate refusing you.” He said honestly. “In truth, I thought I should, but I could not bring myself to do it and in the end, I decided your honour was your own possession, for you to decide upon. I could maintain it to the world by keeping myself from you, or choose to honour you and your body with my own.” 

Smiling he said, “The second way seemed a more honest and desirable choice, and a fucking sight easier. You are stuck in my being, Sansa. I could not be without you if I tried.”

A happy tear slid down her cheek, and as his thumb smoothed it away, she said “I am glad of it. I too cannot be without you. I have spent too many years in want of your love.” Stroking the muscle of his forearm as she spoke.

“In want of my love, or do you mean wanton of my love?” He winked as he squeezed the cheek of her arse so strongly it lifted her briefly from the ground.

They kissed, a long and loving expression between them. She stopped to push his shirt off, her palms running smooth trails over his chest and arms. 

“Are you not hungry?” He asked, gesturing towards her meal, concern in his voice. 

“Only for you.” She said, as she pulled his laces undone and took his cock into her hand. 

She knelt and kissed his manhood. Deep audible breaths escaped him as she did so, encouraging her forward. Blood coursed into it when she allowed her tongue to trail the length of it, his knees suddenly went weak, and he stumbled a little backwards, bumping loudly into a chair. 

Smiling up at him, enjoying the control she said with authority. “Get comfortable.” So, he moved over to the bed and sat upon the edge. Excitement written over his usually sour face, she followed him there, every stride towards him emboldened her. She pushed him heavily in the chest and he sunk back on to the bed. 

Looking down upon his hard cock thrilled her, it set a fire between her legs. She crouched down and took hold of his foot, removing his boot and stocking in a slow tease. Repeating the task, she watched his chest heave in anticipation. Then, grasping hold of the hems of his breeches, she gave a solid yank and disrobed him. Fully exposed, naked and hers – her own anticipation built. 

Making herself comfortable beside him, she took his cock in her hand and put it in her mouth. The salty taste of his arousal tantalised her tastebuds, but the taste was more than just salt, there was a masculinity, a flavour she could not name but one she enjoyed, which warmed both her mouth and her mind. Her tongue firmly rolled around his knob, her lips curling under the edge of it. 

She felt him sweep her hair aside, eager to afford himself a better view. They were both fully aroused and she opened her mouth to take more of him in. The sensation was powerful, enjoyable. Her hand found his balls, the caress of them increasing her fervour and his moans.

Had she been instructed to take a man in her mouth she would have been disgusted, but he wasn’t just any man. He had filled her dreams and desires for years, and she wanted him completely. It was as though it were the most enticing dessert, warm and hard in her mouth. Her senses overloaded, her gentle sucks becoming stronger, more urgent, she slackened her jaw and slid her mouth deeply around him. 

She found herself grabbing at her skirts, pulling them up so she could dip into her own moisture, her pleasure heightening as she did. Her fingers slick she took hold of the base of his solid erection. Encircling it, pressured, but not too much, she started a gentle rhythm as her head nodded to its own. Breathing in through her nose, she allowed contented sighs to take the breath from her. 

Her eyes were shut to the world, enjoying every smell, taste, sound and feel. His groans became so intense it broke her out of herself. She glanced up at him; his cock still deeply in her mouth. Her heart was beating loudly as he pulled her head up to kiss him on the lips, her leg swinging across him to straddle his hips as she moved. 

She could feel his hands reaching behind her, fumbling urgently at the laces of her dress. Her breasts were straining at the thick cloth. They broke their kiss. His efforts had allowed her more air, and he smiled as she wriggled out of her bodice, pushing her loose shift from her shoulders and lifting her arms free. Breasts bared, she leaned forward, willing one into his mouth. Never one to disappoint, she sighed contentedly as he suckled it strongly. 

The tugs between her legs overwhelming her, she reached for her skirts again. Her clothes pooled loosely around her waist, she fought through the yards of fabric to reach his cock. Finding it brought a smile to her lips and she lifted her hips, and rubbed that blissful nob against her entrance before firmly pushing herself down upon it. Losing her wits momentarily, she paused to allow the sensation of him filling her the intensity it deserved. 

She started to ride him, a hand reaching forward to his chest to support herself; fingertips searching for his nipple, to feel that firm nub between them as her palm enjoyed the rough feel of the hairs of his chest. His hands were guiding her now, thick fingers firmly grasping her hips. His fingertips were almost painful in their grip, but she didn’t mind. The pressure added to her own urgency, her pleasure. She raised and lowered herself repeatedly with such thrill, as his hips jerked beneath her. 

Her peak came upon her quickly, her back arching suddenly and her breath lost to her. The white-hot power pulsing within her, the instant stillness of movement it demanded contrasting so boldly with the previous fervour as she felt the twitches of his release. She loved that feeling, the knowledge of his seed spurting into her like a heartbeat, filling her soul and mind as it soothed her core.

She looked down upon him, his dark locks spread beneath his head, his muscled frame a perfect vision on her bed, glistening with the heat of their passion. She leaned forward to feel the hard muscle and hair of his chest rub against her soft smooth flesh as they both heaved in exhaustion. Her ear resting against him, enjoying the low throb of his heartbeat, whilst his hands felt huge upon her making her feel petite and feminine as they gently smoothed over her back. She could feel the love they emanated. 

They had undeniable lust for each other, but in that moment, it was the love that seeped through. The knowledge that there would be no other man touch her skin as he did, filled her with a sense of calm security. It built a feeling of strength in her, self-belief that she was finally and completely where she should be.

“I love you, little bird.” She heard him say as his fingers combed through her hair, exploring its length, testing its strength and twisting it into curls.

“I know.” She replied. “I feel it in your touch, and see it in your eyes. I hope you feel my love too. It would pain me so to think that you didn’t.”

His voice was deep and quiet in its reply. “Oh, I feel it little bird. It is intoxicating. I want nothing but to be with you.” 

She registered the sincerity in his voice as he said, “The nights are not long enough for me to show you my love. I am endlessly grateful that we have finally come together.” 

His voice caught with emotion when he added, “It is more than I could have imagined. You are more than I deserve.”

“I’m not.” Was her simple reply.

Leaning up to look him in the eye so he could see the truth of her words, she said “We are what the other needs. A new life together, to wipe away the past.” 

“Aye. You could be right.” He said, nodding.

Suddenly smiling broadly, he instructed “Now eat your meal lass! You’ll be needing your strength if you are to take the love I intend to shower upon you.” 

Grabbing a cheek of her arse, he squeezed it harshly before slapping it and soothing the pain with a firm rub. She couldn’t contain the smile on her face as she climbed off him and poured some water into a bowl. Taking a cloth, she wet it. Resting a foot on a stool she boldly washed her womanhood, watching him as she did. 

“I’m not sure why I am bothering.” She said. “You are sure to soil me again before morning.”

“Is that a request or speculation?” He asked, grinning, his teeth shining white amongst his bushy beard.

“Both.” She replied. 

He laughed as she dried herself and moved to get her plate. She made herself comfortable on the bed, pouring them each a wine as she did. 

Handing him a goblet smiling, she said “I am sure you are up to the task.”

“Without doubt.” He announced confidently as he pilfered some cheese from her plate. 

Suddenly looking concerned when he said, “What will you tell your brother about us?”

“I’m not sure.” She said. “There is not much to tell, beyond the truth of it. I love you and shall have you. I will not give you up.”

Popping the cheese in his mouth and talking as he chewed, he replied “And if he insists you marry me?”

“Would you wish to marry me? You don’t strike me as the marrying kind.” She said, her eyes narrowing to read his face.

Swallowing, he said “Of course, any man would want to claim you, but I would not ask you.” Shaking his head and twisting his lips as he searched for the right words to say. 

“My status does not allow it, nor my understanding of you. No man should ever demand you marry. You have already trod that road regretfully. It is you who controls your destiny now.” He said, smiling at her, his lips pressed together into a toothless grin.

Leaning over, she kissed him. “I am glad you see it that way. More than that, I am glad you understand me as you do. It is not that I would not marry you in the right circumstances, it is that at this moment I would marry no man.” She paused, before quickly adding, “It is you I would choose, if I were able.”

Staring down at the bed, she spoke at the mattress sadly “I am damaged. It may change, but for now marriage evokes a prison within me. It does not conjure in me what it meant to me as a child.”

She felt his hand cup her face and she looked up to see his dark eyes sad and loving. “I will be your love always. Don’t dwell in sorrow. We have each other, and it is no man’s business but ours.”  
His brow furrowed as he underlined the point.

Grateful for his understanding she kissed him again. “Don’t distract yourself, woman!” He smiled. “Eat up. I meant what I said earlier, I intend to pound my love upon you.” 

When she had curled up against him to sleep, she felt a sudden pang of worry. What would her brother say, or moreover do? He was not an entirely predictable man, beyond his sense of honour, and it was that honour she would no doubt have to battle against. She breathed deeply as a sense of panic crept in but, with a nose full of the musky scent of the man she rested upon, a calmness began to overtake her. There was no moment in the day that was real beyond the one she resided in, and Sandor was in that moment too. No worry was great enough to disturb that.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your comments. It fuels me no end.

The early morning light brightened the room despite it being a dull winter’s day. Dust moats floated in the air, giving off a magical quality. Sansa found herself snuggling down into the familiar comfort of her bed to watch Sandor as he flipped back the covers and slowly unfolded himself to his full impressive height. She felt a sense of pride and joy observing him, his arms extended above his head, every naked muscle on his magnificent physic defined and twitching as he stretched. Her blood tingled, and she pressed her legs together, reminding herself of her slight discomfort their numerous couplings throughout the night had left behind. A keepsake for her to enjoy privately throughout the coming day. 

He was pissing a powerful stream into the chamber pot when there was a sudden frantic knocking at the door. She’d laughed when the sudden noise had made him piss on his own feet and he was grumbling as he finished and shook his cock free of any droplets.

Unperturbed by his own nakedness he strode to the door and flung it open, barking “What do you bloody want?”

Ellyn looked like a startled deer when greeted by the sight of a giant naked man inches in front of her. Her eyes ran over the full length of him before she began making a concerted effort to keep her gaze towards the floor.

“I’m sorry ser. Ah, um - his grace requires both you and lady Sansa in his chambers immediately.” She said, a blush blooming on her cheeks whilst she twisted her fingers amongst themselves. 

“Will Lady Sansa be requiring my help to dress?” She asked, trying to peek past him to her mistress, without catching sight of his cock. She failed in her endeavour. Her eyes dilated with either surprise or excitement, and she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor again.

Sandor stepped backwards allowing the girl into the room, and closed the door behind her.

“You’d better help.” Sandor replied, “If we are to get this bloody confrontation done and dusted.” 

He turned and started gathering his clothes from where they had fallen the night before. Pulling his breeches on first to save the girl her discomfort.

“I’m sorry, Ellyn.” Sansa said. “Sandor can be a bit brusque at times. I fear you’d be better to get used to it and his language, rather than expect the old dog to change. He means nothing by his candour.” 

Smiling she added, “He is a simple man.” Shooting a teasing look at her lover, as she rose from the bed and slipped into the dressing gown the girl was already holding out for her.

Quickening towards the door, Ellyn asked “Do you know which gown you will be wearing today?” 

Pulling the door open she beckoned two boys inside. One carried an ewer of warm water, the other Sandor’s meagre belongings. Ellyn ushered them towards a table to deposit the items, and tipped her head towards the door signalling for them to leave.

“The dark grey dress will do nicely, thank you.” Sansa said, as she set about washing herself. 

The girl was reaching into a large chest as she asked, “and will you break your fast after your meeting?”

“Yes.” Sansa replied. “I think that would be for the best. I doubt Jon will have the patience to wait for me in the circumstances.”

Sandor had himself washed and dressed in moments. He stood contemplating her for a while.

“Should I go ahead without you, or do you think it better we arrive united, little bird? I am not sure I should allow you to take any of his wrath, but wonder if he would respond better to me in your company?” Rubbing his hand along Sansa’s spine as he questioned her, he seemed wary of doing anything to rock the even keel they had found.

“United.” She replied. 

“I shall handle him.” She reassured him. “Jon and I have a long history together. Despite his age, sex and present position above me, it was not always so. I have always been a lady of Winterfell. He, however, was raised as a Snow and my mother never allowed him to forget it. I will command, if not demand his respect. I will not leave defeated.” He nodded slowly in reply, although he appeared unconvinced.

She continued, “I won’t be long. Pass me my brush please. I can get started on my hair whilst Ellyn organises my things. She’s a whizz at the laces.” She said as she turned to the girl with a friendly smile.

Seeing the concern on the girl’s face she said, “Don’t fret Ellyn. My brother was never going to be happy with this situation. You have brought us no ill-tidings this morning. We expected to be summoned.”

They soon left Ellyn to tidy the room and make a permanent place for Sandor’s items. Sandor walked a pace behind Sansa in deference to her status as they made their way along the dim stone corridor. It bothered her, but it was not the time to raise it. Their situation was clearly the talk of the castle. Hushed tones rippled ahead of them as conversations were suddenly swallowed. They reached Jon’s chambers and knocked on the door, giving one another a quick glance of determined confidence.

“Enter!” Jon called out, anger betrayed in his voice. 

They took a breath and entered, immediately feeling the tension in the room. Jon stood, his shoulders raised with stress, his eyes shone dark against his pale face, and he took no time in affixing his hostile gaze at Sandor, before turning to his sister.

“What in seven hells do you think you are doing under our father’s roof?!” He said, without preamble.

Sansa stood tall, her chin held high. “Precisely as I desire and deserve, brother. You will be unaware of my history with Sandor. It is no new bond we share.”

Sandor listened to the explanation with equal fascination to that her brother showed. He enjoyed hearing his true love outline so openly the depth of her feelings for him.

Sansa continued, “Our relationship goes beyond a sudden tumble in a bed chamber. We have known each other many years. He was my strength in Kings Landing. My only strength once father died. Sandor has always protected me and cared for me as much as he was able and at extreme risk to himself, when I had nothing to offer him in return.” She stared her brother down with a resolute gaze.

“So, is it love?” Jon asked, almost scoffing at the concept.

“Yes.” She replied. “Without doubt.”

“And for you, Clegane?” Jon asked, turning his attention to Sandor and narrowing his stare.

“Wholeheartedly.” He replied, without hesitation. “There is no other woman I have ever loved, nor will ever love. I have loved your sister faithfully for years.”

Jon rolled his eyes in response before saying, “I will not bore you both with questions about your suitability. You are both more than aware it is not an allegiance House Stark would desire, nor require. Our parents would turn in their graves and, if they were still to be living, I doubt not that they would deny you your pleasure.” Jon said in an authoritative manner.

Softening his tone, he continued “They would never understand your choice Sansa.” 

Shaking his head slowly he said, “I myself would struggle to understand it had I not had the faith and strength of the Hound’s sword at my back beyond the wall. Your reputation in the seven kingdoms is unfairly bestowed in my view.” 

Appearing sincere as he spoke, he continued more serious, “I have been privy to the honour within you, Clegane, however your reputation remains as it ever was, and you have attached my sister to it.” He finished, frustrated, running his fingers through his hair.

Jon began pacing the room. His turmoil obvious. He either chooses to respect his parents’ memory or grant respect to a man and woman who stand alongside him in his current mammoth endeavours.

After a moment of pacing he said, angry again “Do you have to be so bloody obvious about it? To flaunt it in the faces of every lord gathered under our roof? It shames House Stark. If it is love, why not just marry if I would grant you leave to do so?” 

At that Sansa’s calm controlled demeanour abandoned her. Her fire matched that of her hair. “I will not marry upon instruction!” She said. “I have been forced into marriage twice over and I will not do so again, ever!”

Her brother immediately recognised not only the anger, but the pain behind her words. 

“I understand you sister.” He said quietly, adding “Surely you see how it looks to have a lover so openly under our roof?” An imploring tone defined in his voice.

“And, how does it look?” A voice said sweetly. The voice was one Sansa barely recognised, and she turned in surprise to see Daenerys step into the room from a side chamber. 

Jon was dumbstruck.

“How does it look Jon Snow?” She repeated, more firmly. “Does it look any different to you and I sharing a bed? You seem pleased enough to set aside the issue of marriage each night when you climb into my bed.” Her expressive brows raised questioningly. “I can assure you, it is widely known that your own bed is unoccupied at night.”

Sansa and Sandor could not hide their obvious delight. 

“I think she has you by the bloody balls mate.” Sandor spluttered, a rumble of laughter underlining his words.

“But …” Jon tried, thrusting an arm towards Sandor and Sansa, and waving it around as if it would somehow encapsulate meaning.

Sansa stepped over to stand beside Daenerys. The women stood together, strong backed and united. “But what brother?” She said innocently. “Is it perhaps that a woman cannot be the social superior of her lover, but no – that cannot be so.” Putting her finger to her cheek and furrowing her brow in mock contemplation. “Surely you are yourself out-ranked by a Queen, having given up your Kingdom?”

She smiled at him, tilting her head to express concern. “I fear your battle has ended brother, unless you too wish to give up your warm place in your lover’s bed? I sincerely doubt you’d find another so beautiful or powerful.”

The air puffed out of Jon’s sails in a rush. “I cannot win!” He declared, before slowly allowing himself to smile at his three opponents.

“I am happy for you sister. You do deserve joy.” He said as he proffered his hand to Sandor to shake. “Regardless, I cannot waste time with such matters. There is more work to be done and strategy to be defined than hours in the day.” 

“We shall leave you then.” Sansa said, as Daenerys leant forward to hug her.

She stepped over to give her brother a rare hug. He quietly said, “Know this Sansa, as the Snow I remain in my heart, despite others now choosing to see me as a Stark, I not only accept your choice and understand your unwillingness to marry, but I approve of your suitor. I know that Sandor will give his life in protection of yours without faltering, and no man be him lord or lowling has more than that to offer.”

When they found themselves back in the corridor the chamber door shut behind them, they stood staring at each other in shock. As comprehension and smiles began to overcome their faces, Sansa leapt into Sandor’s arms embracing him about the neck. He spun her around briefly before setting her down again to kiss her thoroughly.

“Bugger me!” He said, as he bent down to rest his hands upon his knees in shock and emotional exhaustion. “That was not how I expected that encounter to go. I had thought we may have to threaten to leave Winterfell to get our way. I feared I may have had to give you up.”

“As did I!” Sansa nodded, exposing her secret concern, her own shock still apparent in her face. 

Collecting herself, she said “Well, shall we break-fast in our chamber or the great hall this morning?” 

“Our chamber?” Sandor repeated under his breath, his eyes twinkling at her. 

“I do like the sound of those words upon your lips little bird, but today I feel we celebrate amongst all who care to look upon us.” He winked, as a smug grin tickled his lips. 

“I have secured the lady of Winterfell. Sansa Stark is mine.” His disbelief apparent.

“You think too boldly, Clegane. It is the Hound that is mine!” She said, as she grabbed his hand and urgently pulled him towards the hall.

They’d recovered their stately demeanour before reaching the great hall and walked in nonchalantly to find a seat next to one another amongst the gathered masses. The hall fell silent, the rumour having worked its way through the entire castle at lightning speed before the sun was fully up. The thrum of voices returned, and was joined by the clattering of utensils and plates. 

“May I be amongst the first to congratulate you both on your union of sorts.” Tyrion said in a hushed tone, looking out from beneath his heavy brow with a broad grin. 

“My nephew would without doubt be as purple as he was the day he died, had he heard this happy news. The thought is enough to warm one’s soul in these dark and depressing times.” He leaned forward to shake Sandor’s hand briskly, his grin even broader when he finished.

“I can’t say the idea distresses me. That purple prick stomping like the petulant child he was would be a delight to behold. The boy lacked the cock to secure or satisfy a woman like Sansa.” Sandor replied.

“You are both behaving like boys yourselves!” Sansa chastised, before adding “Although, I am not in disagreement with the ideas you discuss.”

The three laughed, and tucked into a hearty meal as Arya snuck up behind Sansa. 

“You disappoint me sister.” She said under her breath. “I felt sure we had a delicious secret to share between just we two, and now I find it is no secret at all. Then again, perhaps there is another secret, but it is for you to deduce what it may be?”

“That’s easy.” Sansa replied, before lowering her voice and looking her sister in the eye. “It is you who has a secret lover.” Arya’s eyes opened wide quizzically and Sansa smiled before tipping her head to the far end of the table where Gendry sat. 

“You may be a master at disguise, but the boy cannot hide his fascination for you.” Sansa said with satisfaction. Arya allowed just the slightest of smiles to wash over her face before it was gone. 

Sansa beckoned her sister’s ear even closer to her lips before she breathed “To think, it was me who was to have married a King, but it is you who chooses King’s blood. The union of Stark and Baratheon may still have its time.” 

Arya gave her sister a hearty shove, before wandering off. Saying as she went, “Shit-face, you had best watch out for that one. She can be wily.”

“You tell me nothing new wolf-bitch.” He replied. 

After a short meal. Sandor raised himself up from the table and said. “See you tonight.” 

Bending down, he placed a kiss on the top of Sansa’s head. The room fell silent again, and he gave her a smile only she could see.

“You enjoy this too much.” She whispered, as the rumble of activity returned to the room. 

“Perhaps I do.” He grinned, raising an eyebrow and was gone. 

He’d had word sent to her during the day that they would dine together in their chambers, although it was still a pleasant surprise to enter the room and see a platter of food, wine and her lover already there. 

A steaming bath awaited them both. “I thought you’d prefer to go first.” He said as he gestured to the tub from his comfortable chair, surrounded by small pieces of armour he’d removed. “The water won’t be fit for a lady once I’m through with it.”

“Thank you, my love.” She said, pecking his cheek. 

“You may want to get in and get yourself covered in scent before I crack open the rest of my armour. Without a rose wafting up your nose, you may not forgive me for the stench I produce.” He said earnestly.

“I told Ellyn, that I’d get your clothes off.” He rasped. “I’m not too sure if she was scandalised or annoyed by it.” Wrinkling his nose as he pondered it further, and taking off his boots.

Sansa hung her cloak on a hook and pointed behind herself to the laces at the base of her neck. “We’ll need to think about how this will work, for her and us.” She said, as he stood and started unlacing her. 

“She’s no soldier you know. The girl is unused to a man’s ...” She struggled for a moment to find an appropriate word, “... manhood, hanging about between his legs. You shocked the poor thing this morning.” She finished, a small giggle erupting from her throat as he grabbed her arse in play.

“There is something bloody wrong with the world if a man cannot stand naked in his own chamber little bird.” He replied gruffly, then said resignedly “Argh, she’ll get used to me. Besides, she’s bound to see cock one day. Better that it comes as no surprise.”

“Well, if you won’t see reason on that matter, then perhaps we can agree that she dresses me in the mornings and undresses me most evenings? It is part of her job to attend to mending and laundering, so it makes sense to inspect my clothing at the end of each day.” She said.

“Aye, perhaps. I can still peel a shift off you for my own satisfaction.” He said with a teasing growl, whilst he nibbled her neck. “Besides, these long laces are not exactly made for my fingers. They’re bastard awkward things. I’d rather nick them with the point of a blade, than fiddle with them.”

Before long Sansa stepped into the bath. He watched her as her breasts bobbed enticingly just below the surface of the water. “You’re a sight to behold, my beauty.” He said contentedly. 

‘It gives me pleasure to watch you strip too.” She said coquettishly, placing her hands on the edge of the tub and resting her chin upon them. 

“Go ahead.” She instructed, raising her brown in insistence.

He reached for the leather straps of his final pieces of armour and tugged them loose and went about stacking all the pieces carefully in the corner of the room. 

“I’ll have them bring a stand for it tomorrow.” She said. “Go, on. Next layer.” Wiggling her finger at him.

“I’m not sure if you’re wanton or just a bossy fish-wife.” He said, squinting his eye to peer at her as he stripped himself of his remaining layers. 

“Wanton.” He declared.

She splashed some water in his direction. “You’d have it no other way.” She said.

“Aye. You’re damn right there!” He said. 

Becoming reflective he said, “It’s peculiar. There is horror out there to the north, but here alone with you the world is perfect.” He stood silently looking at her for a moment, as if drinking in the view.

Suddenly, lurching naked towards the tub he said, “Right, now move over!” 

“You can’t!” She protested somewhat panicked unable to move fast enough herself to get out.

“Just watch me!” He said, as he stepped into the tub, placing a foot either side of her. 

He of course couldn’t fit and, as he lowered himself down, she was forced up and out. She stood dripping and pouting beside the bath, before he reached out and pulled her on to his knees which were poking a distance above the waterline. Initially, she balanced awkwardly side-saddle, before sliding happily down his lap, her bottom only just immersed in water. His arms embraced her, and she gave him a loving kiss.

“Did your day go well?” She enquired, as she pushed his hair from his face and stroked his temple with her fingers.

“Well, it certainly started gloriously.” He said. “I still can’t believe your brother was so easily swayed.” 

“Hmm.” She agreed, “Although I doubt he would have been so easily persuaded had he not been keeping company with the Queen.”

“That and where I put my cock is of no real concern to him at present, he has enough to consider without your antics.” He teased, as he slid a finger inside her. 

She groaned with the pleasurable invasion, and turned her head up to kiss him again. “I could get used to this attention.” She purred.

“I hope you never do. I aspire to always excite you.” He rumbled sincerely in an aroused tone. 

They spent some time enjoying passionate kisses, their tongues dancing together, their fingers exploring their heated flesh. When they dried themselves off, Sandor stood looking between the plate of food and their bed. 

“So, which will it be - a quick fuck and food, or quick food and a long fuck?” His head tilted sideways awaiting her reply.

She laughed, although she knew he was not joking. Mischievously she said, “Does it have to be one or the other? Why not a quick fuck, food and a long fuck?” The coarse words not even tripping her tongue.

“Oh.” He growled, grabbing her and tossing her on the bed. 

“That dirty word on your lips is perfect, and your ideas sublime!” He hovered above her, easing a knee between her legs, and allowing his erection to scrape her belly arousingly. He kissed her hard, his mouth dominating hers as his second knee slid between her legs. Her blood boiled with anticipation, and she reached her hands up behind his back to brace herself against his shoulders.

“Ready?” He asked. 

She nodded an enthusiastic affirmation, as one of his hands spread her folds in expectation. Slowly he pushed himself inside, to the sound of her contented sigh. 

“You asked for quick.” He said, as he did a few long slow drives before increasing his tempo to a hard and fast pace. 

She groaned her approval, as she struggled to brace herself from his power. He found another gear, and pounded her heavily. Her body aflame, she could feel the call of her peak as the impact rattled her brain, leaving her deliciously lightheaded. She bolstered her forehead against his chest, as her moans increased with each repetitive pound, before letting out a high pitched “Ahh” as her core clenched and vibrated around him. He too expelled a sound at his release and they huff and puffed their way back to normality looking at each other.

“First order undertaken.” He announced, as he allowed his full weight to crush her for a moment. 

She struggled for air beneath him, and revelled in it momentarily before pushing him off. His mass excited her. She loved his height, breadth and masculinity for so starkly contrasting herself. The feel and sight of his tough battle-worn skin, generously populated with coarse hair, flush against her invigorated her to her core and for a moment she struggled with the idea of doing anything other than lay beside him.

Reaching for an abandoned towel, she wiped herself clean, before tenderly wiping his manhood and tossing the towel aside. She stood and gathered the platter and wine, returning with them to the bed.

He’d sat up by then and was stretched out on the bed, is back leaning against the wall behind it. She wriggled into a nook next to him, and rested against his chest, pulling one of his arms to warmly drape around her shoulder. They ate slowly and chatted; poured many wines and laughed together. When the platter was empty he stood and dutifully put it back on its table.

Returning to the bed, he took up his position again, but this time not sitting so upright. Getting himself comfortable he pulled Sansa on to his lap, her back reclined against his chest, her head leaning on his shoulder. He ran his hands between her thighs and gently spread her legs, before running his palms up her body to find and fondle her breasts. Bending his head down, his hot breath puffed into her ear with a tickle as he kissed the side of her face and neck. 

“It’s time for the slow now, little bird.” The words oozed out of him like syrup and her excitement built.

In terms of days they had not been long together, but in terms of moments and breathless feasting on flesh it had been a long while. Her body no longer knew what it was to go unsatisfied. She felt sure that whatever circumstances their flesh had of been brought together under, they would have matched in heat, but it was not just lust that joined them. Her deep respect for him, and he for her, heightened their bond. The pleasure they took from each other’s words, or silent company could be brought by no other individual. No knight of storybooks could match what she found in him and they revelled in it. She’d even grown to enjoy his coarse nature; his words were like their flesh – opposite in appearance and made to complement perfectly.

His hands smoothed over her body and she felt transformed into silk. The heft of his bulk beneath her sparked excitement throughout her and his masterful nipple play had her breathless and squirming. A hand drifted to her mound and his fingers scampered amongst the curls. She was torn between watching them play and closing her eyes to the dimly lit room and escaping into her sensations.

She flickered between both. Gaining an intense thrill when she both saw and felt is fingers trail back and forth along her folds. Her body bucked with the luminous energy surging throughout it. His lips were pressed against her neck and she could feel the vibration of his desire as he moaned and kissed her. His fingers stretched long and ensnared her folds between them, curling his hand to pull the flesh away from her. The tension it created heightened her desire. He repeated the motion, but this time pulling the flesh away to an almost painful point.

Was it pain? – yes! She thought, but such pleasure with it. His other hand found her nipple and, taking it between thumb and forefinger he squeezed firmly. She called out in shock and desire, and she felt his lips curl into a smile against her neck. He cupped her breast more fully, gathering more tissue between his thumb and forefinger, rolled, squeezed, even tugging and she was lost. All the while his hand never lost its power in the playground amongst her folds. He massaged them with intensity. She screamed out again, there was no way to contain herself.

His thumb brushed over her nub and her body clenched in shock, her shoulders thrusting backwards into him, her heels digging into the bed beside his legs. His erection was like rock between her buttocks and she was lost. Two fingers made their way inside her, whilst his thumb continued to glance over her nub. A touch so light it was barely there; but oh, how it was there! It punctuated the intense shocks her nipple sparked. 

Her breath was shallow and her head light. He growled at his own pleasure and she called out again. She could smell his masculinity, almost taste it in the air. The fingers curling inside her, running a rhythm of delight to brush against her sensitive core had built, his thumb moving small circles of heaven on her nub. She could see in her mind the white heat sparking throughout her, building and then it hit; two – no three, places at once. He’d expertly brought her undone in her core and her nub, but her nipple hadn’t been left behind and she was locked in the power of the clench at her core. She couldn’t move, stiff above him, oxygen struggling to find her lungs. 

“We’re not finished yet, little bird.” He said, his fingers trapped in her clenching core as it involuntarily continued to grasp, hoping to milk seed. His other hand gently massaging her breast as his tongue slid along her neck and shoulder. “I promised you long.”

He allowed her time to come into herself once more, to step back from the abyss of pleasure. She slid off him and lay on her side next to him, her body buzzing but no longer overcome.

“I don’t know if I can take more.” She said honestly.

“You can.” He promised, his voice heavy with arousal. 

He rolled over above her and took her breast into his mouth. The wet warmth and suckle assured her she could indeed take more, and indeed she wanted it. Her hands gravitated to his head to rummage through his hair, and he made his way down her body with gentle licks and kisses as her body arched beneath him, breathless once again.

He bent down to kiss and lick her womanhood, a hand reaching under her to squeeze her cheek. She squirmed under his control. The licks languid and wonderful but she was stirred into a burning heat once more. 

“I need cock.” She said, the words escaping her mouth to her own surprise.

“And you shall have it, my lady. How do you need it, my love?”

“Hard; strong – now.” She said, not recognising her own voice.

He flipped her over as she urgently gathered pillows beneath herself. She arched her back, pointing her bottom up to him. An unhindered moan, escaped him as he sheathed himself fully inside her. He indulged himself in a few long slow slides in and out of her; her own moans encouraging his dalliance. 

Her ear enjoyed the grunts which escaped him when he started to power into his task. It excited her when his hand went to the back of her neck and he forced her down strongly on to the pillows, as he sought stability for his powerful thrusts, his pressured grasp intoxicating her. She could feel his balls slapping against her and the vibrations created pleasure in her overwrought groin. He was not holding back, nor did she want him to. He forced himself back and forth heavily, his speed creating sweat which dripped on to her. She was powerless to control her own response and let her audible pleasure excite the fervour. Her peak hit her along with a sense of extreme accomplishment. She’d wanted him strong; he’d given it and she’d taken it. He slapped into her with his own peak and his cock twitched manically deep within her, his hot seed spurting in pulses of pleasure.

It took a moment for him to relinquish his strong grasp, and he immediately became aware of his show of force over her. His hands soothed along her back, massaging her bottom as he apologised for his grip. 

“I lose myself in you, little bird.” He said, by way of explanation as his still hard knob rubbed her sweetly internally.

“It was perfect.” She said, as he pulled his hips away from her. She turned to see, a look of surprise flash across his face. 

“You didn’t mind me holding you down so intensely? He said

She let an almost evil smile crawl up her lips, her eyes still hooded with passion. “I loved it.” She said plainly. “If I wanted a delicate man, you would never have made it into my bed.”

He was clearly taken aback even more. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your gentle touch too, but your strength …” A sound of appreciation seeped out of her. “Your strength, makes me drunk. Makes me strong too.”

He nodded, and she thought he understood. She hoped he had, because she wanted more of that unrestrained passion. They collapsed on to the bed together. Their eyes searching each other.

“I never dreamed there would be someone who could take me as I am.” He said. “You accept all of me.” The statement almost meant as a question.

“I do.” She said. 

“Not only accept.” She said, shaking her head before smiling. “I love all of you.”

They kissed deeply, meaningfully, as she ran her hands over his sweat slicked body. 

“Have a rest.” She said, as she stood and fetched a small iron pot from next to her fireplace. I’ll warm some water and wash you clean of your exertion when you are ready.


	6. Chapter 6

He woke to find her gently wiping his torso with a warm cloth and soap and, as his body relaxed further under her touch, his cock stood to attention. She lifted his arms above his head and, squeezing the cloth, allowed small rivulets of warm water to trickle over the hills of his muscles and down defined valleys before sweeping the droplets back up with the cloth. Her fingers dwelled in the dark bushes of hair under his arms, memorizing every essence of him. She seemed peaceful in her task. Her eyes almost glazed with remoteness as she thought of only each stroke of the cloth and the comfort it would bring to him.

“I’m not sure that I did not die in a blazing battle, and simply forgot about it.” He said quietly. “You seem an angel at times, little bird.”

“No angel.” She said as her finger peacefully travelled the length of his cock outlining the thick ridges and veins as it throbbed hot beneath it. 

He took a deep breath, his voice rasping with arousal. “Before you distract yourself, little bird, I have something I forgot to tell you last night.” She cocked her head, interested to hear. 

“We’ve had word that the Dothraki are to arrive at Winterfell today, and will be moving on towards the Dreadfort tomorrow. I have agreed to lead the way, and inspect the preparations made there to date. You can come with me if you like, you and I would be back in four days - five at the most? There is no danger, the army of the dead remain very far north.” He said. 

“I’ve spoken with Jon, and he agreed you could come. You are, after all, overseer of all preparations. Davos could look after things here in your absence.” He said hopefully, before adding soberly “We understand if you’d rather not. If the ghosts of the past dissuade you.” His face encompassed concern.

“It will be a cold ride.” She observed.

“Yes, but we could ride together on one horse, I’ll keep you warm and we’ll take plenty of furs.” He said, flicking his eyebrows up hinting.

“The ghosts of the Bolton’s can reach me here or there, if I were to allow them access.” She said, brushing aside his worry. 

“With you by my side they feel vanquished. That horror seems as if it happened to another person.” She said, screwing up her face as if she didn’t understand how it could have ever existed.

“So, you’ll come?” He asked hopefully.

“Yes, I’ll come. I’d rather be where you are anyway.” She said smiling at him and leaning down to suck his knob.

Her warm wet mouth took his breath away. “Oh, I’d rather you were with me too.” He said unequivocally, his voice thin with lack of air. 

He allowed her some time at her task before pulling her up to meet his mouth to kiss her. The taste of his cock and mouth combined on her tongue to give Sansa a heady concoction to enjoy. She savoured it for a while before the taste of his cock beckoned her again, and she pushed herself out of his hold, twisting her body right around so her head faced down the bed. She took him once more into her mouth. The firmness of him in her palate enthralled her, with its covering of fine silky skin filling her senses.

She was distracted with her own journey, barely feeling him spread her legs apart until his tongue ventured into her folds. She sighed and grunted in unison, both moist cavities warm and delighting in their joint fulfillment. It quite overwhelmed her, but she was determined not to break away from the impact, she wanted to ride this sensual express. 

His skill with his tongue was equal to that of his cock and fingers. He always seemed able and willing to meet unknown needs. She took him deeper into her throat, her moans seeping out around its girth, as she felt convulsions of pleasure through her womanhood and up into her chest. His gentle sucks on her nub were bringing her towards a peak. She could feel a flood of moisture seeping into his beard, as her desire made itself known to him. She squeezed her eyes more firmly closed to allow her mind it’s visual; picturing every movement, every colour, every touch, feeling every motion to its extreme.

She could hear him struggling for breath, his nose pressed firmly into her, and she reached for the soap to slicken her hand. When she then put her fingers around the base of his cock, so stiff and wanting, she felt him break his contact with her cunt and almost scream. He allowed himself some deep breaths before resuming his task, and she was delighted. He quickly brought her to a frenzy again and she came strongly, in waves of flooded ecstasy. 

She fought the urge to stiffen and toss herself backwards, for fear of biting him.

His head pulled back gasping air, as he panicked and warned, “I’m cumming!” The words barely audible, with his sensory tension.

She could feel his attempts to wriggle free of her, but she held him, and he came. The hot liquid pulsing down her throat. His shaft twitching its joy.

“Gods, little bird! What have you done to me?” He panted.

She continued her languid sucking, finally licking the length of his shaft and kissing him tenderly. She turned herself around and kissed him deeply on the mouth. Their combined saltiness brewing a new and exotic mix. Her face was moist with her own juices when she finally pulled back from him, the sheen wiped slowly into her mouth with her own hand. Her fingertips lingering on her own lips as he watched dumbstruck and proud. 

As their breathing returned to a respectable rate neither could stop from smiling. 

“That was good.” She announced simply. 

She gathered up her wet cloth and dipped it into the bowl she had waiting on a table next to the bed. Wringing it out, her eyes glazed over again as she carried on her task. This time focussing on his legs and cock.

He folded his arms behind his head, and smiled as he watched her wash and dry him. She gathered fresh water and a clean cloth before returning to him to clean his face and beard. Caressing his scars as if they were a thing of the greatest beauty. He could say nothing as he looked deeply into her eyes, but their dark glow said it all.

When they woke again later that morning the day was starting to dawn. 

He was reflective of the night before and pulled her into his embrace. “Little bird, you absolutely tear me to shreds. I have never felt about anyone as I do about you. I have never felt.” He said lowly, almost as if he were speaking to himself. He rained soft kisses on her head and shoulders, and stroked her hair.

“We are a force to reckon with.” She said. “I doubt I would feel such intimacy with another man.”

“I would cut down any bastard who dares to make an attempt to please you so.” He said, and she did not doubt him. 

“I know you are your own woman, little bird, but you will always be mine.” He said, as he continued his kisses. His beard brushing her shoulders and catching in her hair whilst his hands wandered lovingly over her stomach.

“I think you claimed me as your own when you granted me that name.” She said. “I was but a child, but it wasn’t long before it shifted weight from a name of annoyance, of accusation, to one of affection. No-one else dared to use it. It wove a thread between us; a linked chain of steel, not silk.”

“If I’d known it’s affect, I may never have used it. I would never have felt myself worthy of your affection.” He said. 

“It is just as well we don’t know what our futures hold. It has been a difficult journey to here, but to have what I have found …” She was lost for words. “To have you as I do, I would never change a step.”

They spent some time just enjoying the warmth of their skin, before he shook himself fully awake and started his day. 

“Ellyn will be grateful you wear breeches this morning.” She said as she watched him. “Or perhaps not?” She decided, as he pulled on his shirt and she felt a pang of regret that his flesh was now denied her.

“I’ll have her pack my warm things, but only as much as I truly need, ready to depart tomorrow.” She said, as she kissed him goodbye for the day.

He grunted, inhaling her scent deeply. “You make it so bloody hard to say goodbye, albeit for a day. I’m glad you’re coming with me, even if a few hundred Dothraki soldiers are along with us for the ride.”

The arrival of the Khalasar caused much excitement throughout the castle. Women were impressed not only by the tall, dark, strong warriors amongst them, but also the strength of their women. Sansa surmised it was fortunate they were moving on to the Dreadfort. She could see Westerosi men were unimpressed with their rivals and trouble was no doubt soon to brew.

Ellyn had gathered a suitable collection of items for the journey and Sansa quite looked forward to getting away from the castle, even though she had thought she would never leave its lands again. Her bond with Sandor had given her confidence that they would return safely.

They did not linger long in the great hall that night, keen to make the most of a warm fire and cosy bed, surprisingly for sleep, prior to their uncomfortable journey. They did make love, but not with the investment of energy or time they had dedicated to the previous night. She’d found she slept sounder, with a deeper sense of rest, than she ever had before Sandor had ventured into her bed. She wondered if they would manage to come together on the road, or if they would have to satisfy themselves with a discreet fondle.

The following morning Sandor rose before sunrise to saddle his horse and make sure of the soundness of its hooves. He missed Stranger, no other animal was its equal and he thought that one day, when the war was ended, that perhaps he would seek out a destrier and love it as he once had his black stallion, Stranger.

Sansa made her way down to the stables not long after him and watched by torchlight as he went through his ministrations. She carried with her a saddle bag of her belongings and a sack of food which the kitchen had put together for them. The kitchen maid even thought to give her wine, knowing the Hound’s fondness for a drop. She was dressed warmly in a sensible travelling gown which laced at the front, with as many layers of wool and fur as she could manage. Her cloak was heavy and not fashionable, but it would serve a dual purpose as a blanket when they slept.

Sandor strapped a number of furs, which were rolled together, to the rump of the horse. When Sansa handed him her things, he said “Are you sure, little bird? Now that it is upon us, I’m thinking twice about having you on the road. I cannot promise to keep you comfortable.” 

The gravity of his tone did not deter her. “I’m sure that I’d rather be with you, than anywhere.” 

“Sobeit.” He said, clearly unwilling to argue or perhaps in his heart not wanting her to change her mind. He lifted her into the saddle in a fluid sweeping motion as if she weighed nothing at all, and she landed lightly in the leather, pushing herself as far forward as she could manage.

He soon climbed up behind her, wrapping his cloak around them both and drawing her tight against him. He wore no armour, as he felt it unnecessary with hundreds of soldiers at his back and only a short two-day ride in country friendly to Winterfell. He did carry some pieces of plate to wear on the return journey, should he feel the need. His sword was strapped to his back, a short reach over his head, and he could unleash any fury required. He’d armed Sansa with a dagger, which she wore strapped to her forearm, his own leg and waist held others. The group set off down the road as first light was breaking.

The snow was not heavy on the ground, but it produced thick mud as the horses trampled through it. Sansa and Sandor benefited from heading the column, avoiding the mess the rear suffered.

They headed south briefly down the Kingsroad, before turning east across easy land intending to meet the White Knife River. A light wind blew around them, but Sansa was warm against the heat of Sandor and dual layer of cloaks. His leather clad hand would run circles around her waist and her own would massage his thighs. They’d nibble at food as they travelled, and he’d whisper sweetly in her ear. 

They forded the river at a known low crossing-point, Sansa gathering up their cloaks, so they did not lap in the water and struggled to maintain her balance as they picked their way across the stony riverbed. She was confident Sandor would not let her fall as he’d pulled her hard against him. Progress was excellent until they turned north-east and entered the foothills of the Sheepshead hills. With so many in the Khalasar, it was harder to pick out routes that would allow them to travel within sight of each other. When they reached an area north-west of the Tower and Hornwood they made camp for the night.

There was no truly flat land large enough to accommodate them all, so they broke into smaller groups, finding as much shelter as they could in rock formations and amongst scrubby bush. Sansa was fascinated by the primal display of the Khalasar. They openly coupled by firelight, and shared women before turning in for the evening. 

She found the activity heated her blood, and she fondled Sandor freely under the privacy of their cloaks and furs, as he supped on the wine. The smell of the sour wine filled her nostrils in the close air of their furry huddle. He laughed at her, when she’d whispered a need for completion, but he happily pulled her close to fuck her quietly on their sides from behind. It was just what she needed to relax her into an open-air sleep, and she’d woken him again for his services when she’d had to make water during the night. 

“Always a pleasure, never a chore.” He’d rumbled when she prodded him awake in need. Indeed, it had been a pleasure for her too.

They broke camp at day-break and were quickly on their way, the going slower as they climbed higher into the hills. The wind whipped their heads along the crest of the hills and she felt grateful when at midday they caught sight of the Dreadfort in the distance and knew they would make their way downhill and across the Weeping Water before late afternoon. The Khalasar happily made camp in the lands adjacent to the castle, and Sansa found herself a little disappointed that there was a chamber inside available for Sandor and her.

No sign of the Bolton’s long residence remained. All flayed men sigils had been banned in the north. One would think they would need to be wary of pockets of resistance to new occupation, amongst the small folk of the area, but with most choosing to abandon the seat to seek shelter behind the stronger walls of Winterfell, they were assured of their safety.

The castle was not as large or well-appointed as Winterfell, but they were offered a delightful room. There were no servants to make life comfortable, the focus being on war preparations, but they’d brought with them all they needed. Washing by cloth and eating food from their saddlebags. They spread their own furs on the mattress and enjoyed the sensual delights they offered. 

They spent the following day talking to those handling preparations, and visiting towers and bonfire sites. The Lonely Hills formed a natural barrier for the Dreadfort to the north-west, but they’d begun felling trees to the east and dragging them with horses to create bonfires where they wanted to shepherd the enemy. Last River may provide a sufficient wet eastern barrier to stop the enemy approaching either the Dreadfort or Winterfell from that direction, but with low points and prominent rocks there was no guarantee. So, they planned bonfires to shepherd them into the lower forests of the Karshold or along the eastern bank of Last River south and into the sea.

If Dany and Jon could push the bulk of the army into the forest to the west of Last Hearth there was hope that they could burn them to a crisp, as craggy-hills surrounded them, trapping them amongst the burning trees and funnelling them towards Long Lake. If they could force any who made it through the forest into the lake, all would be well, except those that made it on to the nearby Kingsroad would have an easy and direct route to Winterfell. A march along that road would be swift in comparison to the land the dead would travel to that point.

For their sanity they trusted not many would make it through, and Winterfell would be capable of dealing with those that did. Of course, there was no guarantee that the army was heading to Winterfell, it could make its way west to devastate other regions, however that direction was heavily forested which gave the dragons an advantage when setting them alight.

In the end, Sansa had been satisfied with the start that had been made, and was pleased with the scheduled battle plan. She and Sandor decided to head home to Winterfell in the morning, and made the most of their comfortable bed to sleep in comfort and warmth before they left.

The return journey was far from unpleasant. They travelled alone, and Sansa enjoyed being close to Sandor. He’d made the most of the opportunity to grope her as they picked their way through the hills. Removing a glove and sliding his hand into the neck of her dress, finding her warm breast to wrap his palm around.

“Better than any glove at heating me.” He’d rasped, as his tough skin slid over her smooth breast, cupping its bulk happily and fingering her nipple.

She’d felt the blood rush to her womanhood and it pulsed in delight as it rubbed against the saddle, his hard cock clawing into her back as they went.

They’d again made camp in the foothills of Sheepshead hills, but Sandor was not so at ease as he had been the first time they stayed there, aware of their vulnerability as they travelled alone. She’d longed to couple under the stars by a warm fire, but he’d refused to light one in case it drew attention of any possible remaining Bolton supporters, who could be holed-up in the hills. She knew better than to prod a bear with a stick, and figured a Hound was no different. He promised to keep her warm without the aid of flame, so she made-do with play under the furs and said no more. In truth, it turned out to be no great loss and he’d been diligent in heating her fully. 

Once they’d crossed back across White Knife River they’d made the decision to head more nor-west than south, as they needn’t pick a route suitable for the hundreds they had originally set off with. As they neared Winterfell she raised an issue that had simmered within her for some time.

“Sandor.” She said. “You needn’t walk a pace behind me in the castle. You are my equal and I will not have you lower yourself.”

“I am far from your equal, little bird.” He replied. “No man would dream me such.”

“But you are. We are a pair and I would have you walk alongside me.” She said, twisting in the saddle, so he could see she was earnest about her desire.

“I can’t, little bird. I have no bloody right to it by birth or deed.” He said flatly.

“Stop.” She said.

“What? Why?” He asked.

“Just stop. I want to talk to you properly.” Her tone brooked no resistance.

He pulled on the reigns and clucked at the horse to stop. Swinging his great bulk down silently. He reached up to help her down, but she pushed his hands aside, swung her leg over the horse and slid down before jumping to the ground with a light thud. She straightened her clothes before turning to him, her head held high.

“Precisely what is your issue with standing beside me?” She asked, her blue eyes piercing him.

His mouth flapped open, independent of thought, before he said “It cannot be done, little bird. I am not bloody born to stand alongside you. Your family is established at the heart of the north, at the heart of the bloody country. Two generations back my family were servants, a kennel master with no household of our own, authority over no-one except hounds. I myself have spent a lifetime in servitude, soldiering as a second-son. I have nothing.” He stood perplexed by her lack of understanding.

“It is simply not right for me to walk alongside you, unless in private.” He offered as a final platitude.

“But, you can put your cock within me as you choose?” She said, annoyed.

“Well …” he smiled, “that is an entirely different matter, little bird.” Sliding his hand between the drapes of her cloak and tracing a finger on her breast.

She pulled away. “You are my equal in bed, in my heart, in my head! I will have the world see you that way.” 

She thought for a moment and added, “I will have you see you that way.”

“Why make such a fuss, little bird? It is a step, it means nothing.” He said, his brow furrowed.

She looked at him with consternation, “If it is nothing, then why not take the step to be beside me?” 

“It is the way of the world, little bird.” His hands raised in frustration.

The horse fidgeted on the spot, feeling the tension between them.

“Not the way of my world.” She said defiantly. “If you must step behind me in the presence of a king sobeit, but in front of any other man or woman I would have you at my side. I need you there Sandor.” She implored.

She was reaching for his hands and he saw in her eyes that there would be no dissuading her. 

“I can only try, little bird.” He said, “But, I have had a lifetime of knowing my place, or making the right move when I must. It will not be an easy habit to break.”

“You have broken the habit of keeping your eyes and your hands from a lady easily enough.” She said smiling at him. “Let me help break you further.”

She pulled him down into the dusting of snow and rolled on top of him. Kissing him tenderly, and sliding her body against his. 

“Oh, Sansa.” He groaned, “We are within sight of Winterfell, the bloody watchers in the towers will have seen the horse.” 

“Probably.” She said nonplussed. “Their eyes would have to be mighty good to catch sight of your cock.” 

He pulled at his own laces in agreement, and allowed her to straddle him. “Be quick, my lady. This ground is bastard cold.” He said, as she raised and lowered herself above him, his hands gripping her hips as he groaned in pleasure.

“It doesn’t sound as if it bothers you terribly much.” She said, her breath catching as she spoke.

He groaned again. “Fuck, it doesn’t.” He grunted.

“See, you are surprisingly capable of changing your mind.” She moaned as she said it, his hot cock rubbing up inside her distracting her from her thoughts. 

His hands reached up under her skirts and gripped her buttocks adding to her pleasure. His fingers pulling down her thick stockings to stroke the smooth skin of her thighs. When she had satisfied herself, and he’d thrust his seed into her, she made no effort to climb off him. She leaned forward and kissed him some more. 

“Your seed is within me, hot and dripping in my core. We march together, combined.” Her voice was both sultry and commanding. 

“Do you truly understand?” She asked.

He looked perplexed. She offered further explanation, “I cannot bear to have you anywhere but in me or next to me. You must try.”

“I’ll try, my love, I’ll truly try.” He said, before kissing her, and she knew that he would. 

“Now, don’t slip off the saddle.” He jested, as he pushed her up to standing, reaching under her skirts once again, to slide her stockings up her legs.


	7. Chapter 7

Sandor was standing in the courtyard, a large shaggy ginger man enrobing him as the winter wind swirled around their heads. He seemed awkward at the expression of affection from another man, but stood stiffly taking the hug for the benefit of the delighted northerner.

When the ginger finally stopped clutching, shaking and slapping Sandor on the back, Sansa could see it was Tormund Giantsbane, a wildling leader Jon had left manning Eastwatch by the Sea.

“You remember Sansa Stark, Jon’s sister, Lady of Winterfell?” Sandor said simply as she approached them.

The big man launched himself at Sansa, crushing her. 

Laughing in a loud rumble, he said “Aye, the sister touched-by-fire. Jon’s treasure.” Before stepping back to admire her from top to toe, leaving Sansa blushing under his scrutiny.

“And, you’ll be keeping your fucking hands off that treasure. You great hairy bastard!” Sandor said, as he put a possessive arm around Sansa’s waist and drew her firmly to his side, before running his fingers through her hair to stake his claim.

The wildling roared with laughter. “Bugger me. An ugly cunt like you has snatched the likes of her!” He said, punching Sandor in the shoulder.

“Aye, and there will be no-one snatching her from me, if they want to live.” He said, his face serious to match his tone.

“Argh, don’t fear brother! My heart still longs for that giant woman.” He said with slight melancholy, before suddenly asking hopefully, “Is she here?”

“It’s Brienne of fucken’ Tarth he wants to stick his cock in.” Sandor told Sansa, before replying to Tormund, “Aye, she’s here somewhere.”

The news set a new glow on the already spirited man.

“You can find the bitch yourself.” Sandor grumbled.

“Still not forgiven her for almost killing you then?” The wildling teased.

Sandor just grunted. 

“How did you get here? We were told Eastwatch and the wall had fallen.” Sansa asked.

“Your brother snuck north in the night on a bloody dragon, and rescued the few of us who were there. Most died when Eastwatch collapsed, but those that survived hid themselves from the army of the dead. The cunts have moved further south, taking our dead with them.” He was suddenly grave. 

“They’re still a long way from here.” He added. “Well, I’m not going to waste my time talking to you, when that blonde goddess is here to be found. Her loins will be craving a dose of me before nightfall if I corner her right.” He said smiling at Sandor, before giving him a final slap and wandering off into the crowd.

Sandor stood watching him leave, before gruffly saying, “He’s got about as much chance with that bloody bitch as …”

“The likes of you has with me?” Sansa cut in. 

He grabbed a fist full of her arse before slapping it.

“Fair enough, little bird.” He said, resigned to the truth of it. He was daily in awe of having secured her heart, and unlikely to forget the improbability of it any time soon.

When Sansa entered the great hall to dine that evening, she wasn’t surprised to find Tyrion sitting next to his brother, Jaime. The tall handsome brother had arrived at Winterfell during her inspection of the Dreadfort. It had not been entirely unexpected to hear that their sister Cersei had reneged on the agreed truce, conniving bitch that she was. She’d sent no men to help with the struggle to the north. Despite this, the southern war with Cersei was not one they could dedicate any energy or thought to. Their focus was rightly to the north and the horror that was to come. 

What had shocked Sansa was that Jaime had remained true to his own word, in spite of his sister, and ridden north alone to honour the agreement. His skill as a leader of men and strategist would not go unappreciated, even though his own usefulness with a sword had been severely compromised with the loss of his dominate hand.

Brienne sat the other side of Jaime, the contented look about her shattered by the arrival of Tormund who took up a seat opposite her. He was making a valiant and animated effort to flatter her. On the surface Jaime projected enjoyment at watching the wildling’s attempts to gain her heart, but a keen eye could see beneath his charming show and notice the small glances he always seemed to favour her with. Sansa suspected his time as her ward had perhaps lit a candle of admiration within him, despite Brienne being nothing like his now abandoned love, his twin Cersei. Or perhaps, it was just that reason that she intrigued him, that she was like no-one he had ever known.

His former relationship could never be condoned in any part of Westeros, despite Cersei’s assumption that her position as ruling Queen allowed her leeway to behave as she pleased. The people would simply not accept a brother and sister loving and breeding together as they had.

Sansa couldn’t quite read whether Brienne herself favoured either man. It was clear she found Jaime attractive and had a solid friendship with him. His admiration for her had meant she had been gifted a Valyrian steel sword years before and been entrusted to track down Arya and Sansa in order that Jaime may keep the oath he had given their mother before her death. But, although she appeared to give off an annoyed impression at Tormund’s attempts to woo her, Sansa had seen her watching him with a curious look in her eye whenever he turned his attention away from her.

At 6’3” Brienne was unused to having any suitors who accepted her for her knight-like skills and presence, and she seemed positively lost at the idea that there was one genuine and, if not, perhaps two men who held an interest in her.

It was no easy thing for Sandor to sit with the Lannister brothers, having been in the employ of their family and subservient to them for most of his life, but Sansa delighted in his contrived efforts to be civil. In private she had reminded him during the past week that they now stood no higher than him. Their family pile, Casterly Rock, had been abandoned, its gold mines exhausted, and although they traded on the favour of their family name, in truth they could no longer be considered a truly important family in any part of the country. Cersei’s reign had been brought about by her marriage to the late King Robert Baratheon, besides it hung by a thread, with little support.

Jaime was politely discussing northern strategy with Sandor, when Tormund had suggested to Brienne that they two do some training with dragon glass weapons on the morrow. Sandor had been quick to encourage the match. Sansa felt that perhaps he thought Tormund had an advantage with the weapon and was keen to see him take down Brienne.

“Shall we wager on it?” Tyrion proposed mischievously, as he supped on his wine.

“I’ll not hold back.” Brienne announced, serious and confident as always. “Training or not, I’ve taken down the Hound in the past and could take down you.” Casting a look at Sandor and making him squirm in his seat as if he were a far smaller man, before turning her gaze to Tormund. 

“Lady Sansa, may tally points. If I win, you leave me in peace for the week.” Her clear blue eyes piercing him.

“And if I win, you spend some time alone with me.” Tormund grinned through his bushy beard.

“Ugh!” Brienne protested.

“Not in any rutting way.” Tormund explained. 

“At least not unless you want to? I would happily rut with you for as long as you could handle.” He winked at her and she blushed strongly through her seeming disgust.

“Just time, to know me, you understand.” His gravelly voice genuine in its desire. “You may even like what you see when we fight, and throw the match in the end.” He said, his chuckle filling the air.

“A gold dragon on Brienne.” Jaime announced confidently. 

She almost smiled in appreciation, but she was not prone to flashing her teeth unnecessarily.

“The match will have to be early.” Sansa interrupted. “I have much to do all day, every day. Marshalling is not amongst my highest priorities.”

“Auch, the sooner the match, the sooner the reward.” Tormund winked at Brienne, and she rolled her eyes in disgust, again flushing under his gaze. 

Sansa remained unconvinced how genuine that disgust was. There was no denying Tormund was a handsome man. Broad shouldered, strong from his hard life beyond the wall. His wavy hair naturally sat off his face and his bushy beard flamed with red framed his startling blue eyes. His cheekbones were high and defined, and his nose remained straight and unbroken. Sansa suspected his layered clothing of animal skins hid muscles as dense as Sandor, although he did not reach his towering height. He stood just shy of Brienne on that front.

“We could do it now?” Sandor butted in, enjoying seeing Brienne so ill at ease and delighting at putting her on the spot. 

“I am ready at any time.” Brienne said confidently.

“I am sure you are. That is why I like you.” Tormund purred as he flirted.

Brienne rolled her eyes again.

“But one more thing. None of that armour.” Tormund said, waving his finger at Brienne. “We fight fair.” His eye glinting.

Furrowing her brow, Brienne considered it for a moment, before squeezing her lips together and giving a curt nod.

A shout went up around the great hall and bets were quickly placed. Brienne stood and began cracking her armour open as she walked to the courtyard. Her squire, Podrick, followed steps behind gathering up the pieces. Jaime held her sword, a look of pure bemusement on his face.

Torches were quickly lit around the yard, their flames licking sideways in the cold wind, as the gallery above filled with a rowdy audience. Sandor followed Tormund outside, whispering advice in his ear, squeezing his shoulder, a serious but excited look upon his face. 

Sansa was given the best vantage point to score the match. “Spears or daggers?” Sansa asked.

In unison the opponents replied, “Daggers.”

Tormund’s eyes had widened, “See!” He oozed, “We are destined for each other, so we are! So alike, we speak with one voice.” 

Brienne ignored him. She was all business. Anyone looking upon her could see she was stepping into a fight. Tormund on the other hand, looked as happy as a child at play, bouncing on his toes in anticipation. 

Sansa felt hot breath upon her cheek, as Sandor snuck up behind her to whisper in her ear and wrap his arms around her waist. 

“Bloody exciting isn’t it?” He said, “Something to amuse me beyond your flesh.”

Sansa looked over her shoulder and waved him away. “Step away. I have a job to do. I’ll not have you influence me in my decision.” She said.

He backed off laughing, his hands raised, palms facing her in surrender. She looked around and saw everything was in place. Making a short speech outlining her intended scoring system, she asked them to stand opposite each other fifteen paces apart and called out, “Commence!”

Brienne immediately squatted slightly and approached her opponent. They spent time moving in circles facing each other ten feet apart, the crowd calling out encouragements, before she struck out at him. Tormund caught her arm and twisting it brought it swiftly up behind her back, smiling and whispering in her ear, his body pressed up behind hers. She stomped without regard to any pain she may cause and landed fully on his foot. Distracted with pain, he released his hold and she spun around to grasp him by the neck, her dagger touching his artery.

“Point to Brienne!” Sansa called out, as the crowd roared in response.

Tormund smiled happily, and she released her grip. The two stepped away from each other, still facing one another, they began their slow circle again. This time Tormund lunged first. He ducked swiftly and powered towards Brienne, hoisting her up on to his shoulder. Had Brienne not been so shocked she could have stabbed him in the back, but instead he spun quickly and threw her on to the ground. She landed heavily on her back, and he wasted no time in mounting her, giving a quick and easy stab held at her neck.

“Point to Tormund!” Sansa called, a thunder of foot stomps answered her.

Tormund did not bounce up from where he lay. Instead he intently gazed into her eyes, smiling at her as she lay beneath him, until Brienne bucked herself free. They rose together. Tormund, clearly still distracted by his brief physical encounter with his amour, was not remotely ready when she launched at him again. Grabbing a fistful of beard, she directed a stab at his gut and Sansa quickly awarded her another point. The crowd again roared in appreciation.

Tormund laughed-off the lost point, until he saw her come at him again, this time she ran at a pace, before dropping to her knee as she neared and sliding in the dirt, stabbing up towards his manhood. He’d jumped up and back like lightning and Sansa awarded no point, but it had been a near thing. Brienne took it as a triumph despite the lack of a point. She remained focussed whilst the crowd laughed at the target of her fury.

Finding her feet quickly, she put distance between them and came at him hard again. Sansa could hear Sandor’s voice booming above the noise of the crowd. He did not want to see Brienne win. Brienne was red faced and all anger as she spun past Tormund just out of his reach. She’d intended to get behind him, but he too spun as she flew past and kicked out a leg at her, knocking her to the ground with a thud. He’d been on top of her before she could draw breath. Lying on her front choking on dirt as he grabbed her hair, awkwardly pulling her head up and placing a dagger again at her throat, whilst leaning into her ear and whispering. She was not quick to buck him off, although he’d released her hair, instead taking a moment to rest. 

“Two points all!” Sansa called. 

The crowd called their champions over top of one another, trying to rally their cause.

Tormund was no longer grinning or treating it as a joke. With one point remaining to declare a winner, he was all determination to win his prize. When she stood he came full tilt at her, pulling her into him, trapping her arms and rolling along the ground together. She’d dropper her dagger as they rolled, and he’d slowly let her arms free. Sansa thought he’d perhaps intended to allow her to retrieve the weapon, but she’d shook her head defeated. There was no honour for Brienne in an assisted win. 

He stood first and reached a hand out to her to help her up. It looked as though she would refuse that too, but then she extended her hand up to meet his and allowed him to pull her up. She had clearly meant to turn the pull, into a handshake but he’d pushed her hand aside and clasped her in a bear hug. Her shocked face as awkward as Sandor had been that morning in his embrace.

Sansa looked out to see Sandor almost bounce through the crowd, delighted at Brienne’s defeat. Meanwhile Sansa was beckoning a porter and instructing him to ensure the combatants received proper baths. Money changed hands amongst the crowd during rowdy conversations and most seemed to be heading back inside to drink to the victor’s honour. 

Sandor reached Sansa’s side as she made her way to congratulate and commiserate with the fighters.

“Come, little bird – it’s time for bed.” He hummed in her ear. His blood clearly raised by the spectacle.

“How can you be so gleeful over a fight won against a woman?” She’d asked him as they later made their way to their chambers.

“That’s no woman. That’s Brienne of fucken’ Tarth!” He’d replied scoffing 

“She’s as good, indeed better, than many men.” There was almost admiration in his tone, but it dissipated quickly when he added, “The bitch bit off my ear.” He pulled back the lank hair that obscured the burnt side of his head revealing a hole.

“It may have been a disfigured one, but it was at least one more than I now have.” He said, clearly miffed and going some way towards explaining his delight at her public defeat.

He’d pushed open the door and greeted Ellyn.

“Did you see the fight girl?” He asked enthusiastically, “Bloody brilliant.”

She nodded and explained that a friend had summand her to watch, and she quickly set about removing Sansa’s cloak.

When at last Ellyn closed the door behind her, Sansa stood in her shift, Sandor looking at her with eyes so ravenous she almost feared him. He already had his tunic and shirt off, the twitch of his muscles accentuated by the candle light. He came towards her quickly and embraced her, giving her a hot kiss, before lifting her and pushing her hard up against the door, her legs naturally hooking around his waist as he did to hold her position. 

She had almost felt in a mood to deny him his pleasure, so unattracted to his delight at Brienne’s beating, but with his tongue claiming her mouth and his chest pressed up against her holding her against the wall, her resolve soon failed her. He pushed his knees firmly against the door, one hand holding her body in place, as he leaned his hips back to slacken his laces and release his already burning rod of a cock from his breeches. 

Her shift had pooled around her hips and he threatened to tear it from her, so she helpfully reached down and gathered the fabric in her fingers. His fingers found her womanhood first and she gasped into his mouth as he kissed her again. 

She was already dripping with desire, and he took no time about exchanging his fingers for his cock. When he thrust inside her it was with a single swift motion. Her back grated up against the door and it reverberated on its hinges. His grunts were loud and their rhythmic clattering against the door obvious in its origins. Between the noise of him, the door, and her own desire she had barely heard a group moving along the passageway. She thrust her hand over his mouth to quieten his grunts, and pulled hard against his shoulder with her other arm to try and still him. They stood motionless their eyes trained on one another listening to the group pass in conversation. She felt a broad smile creep across his lips beneath her palm, and she couldn’t help but respond in kind.

She hesitantly removed her hand from his mouth, and he laughed a low rumble. 

“Suddenly shy, little bird.” He asked.

“No.” She replied offended. “There is no need to advertise our activities.” She said

“Oh, you think they haven’t heard you calling out for more or harder in the past?” Another laugh escaped him, as his hips began a slow rock.

She blushed at the idea, but felt unable to ignore the pleasure at her core. It was burning hotter and needed the heft of his pound. 

“Harder.” She whispered.

He grinned and shook his head, continuing his slow rock.

“Harder.” She spoke more definitely, louder. An instruction, rather than a request.

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a lopsided smile whilst shaking his head. His hand tugged at the neck of her shift, exposing a breast and he launched his mouth upon it.

Her moans were undeniable, and a hand reached down to claw at his hip, to try and force it into her at speed and depth. He gave her as she demanded, but not with the force he knew she needed. Ignoring her breast, his face hovered before her own. His lips barely grazing hers as he spoke. 

“If you want it, you must ask for it. You must demand it.” He teased.

Her breathing was heavy, the air almost choking her as her chest quickly raised and fell in its attempts to fill.

She grabbed at his nipple, and twisted it harshly. “Harder!” She demanded, and he pounded into her, rattling the door loudly again. 

It’s bang now irrelevant when compared to her need. The noise filled her ears, the vibrations jarring her back and his desperation at his task filled her blood with passion. He came without her, but she didn’t mourn the loss, her blood still boiled in her veins and she knew he would not be done with her yet. Once his cock had twitched out its final triumph, he allowed her body to slide down the door. Her legs landing shakily on the ground as his head dropped on to her shoulder, his lungs screamed for air. Her fingers walked up the back of his neck, and tangled in his hair. She pulled it hard making his head tip back. 

She stared into his hooded eyes and demanded, “More.”

He couldn’t hold back the smile despite his exhaustion, and he dropped to his knees. Running his hands up the inside of her smooth legs, his chest still heaved as he looked up to her, his fingers spreading her flesh, he leaned forward and licked her. Her body thrust itself backwards into the door, a loud bang muffling the sound of her squeal as his lick became a slow gentle suck. He drew her flesh into his mouth and at moments allowed his teeth to graze against it. Her breathing became shallow and he pushed two fingers up inside her. 

He pulled back his head and he looked up at her again, his fingers maintaining their pressured run within her, pulling against that most pleasurable spot. She was up on her toes, as if trying to escape the stimulation which overwhelmed her.

“I will meet your every wish.” He rumbled calmly, before leaning forward to again suck on her flesh and nub, his tongue flicking it firmly whilst his fingers continued to drag. 

Her pleasure was building, her lungs screamed for air, grabbing only morsels to see them through. The white heat in her brain was such that she thought she may faint, but it struck from her core, that clench of passion gripping his fingers hard, trapping them within her, and in unison her nub exploded in pleasure. Her body stiffened in shock before collapsing forward, her stomach balancing over his head, as her arms groped aimlessly for support, her core gripped and released his fingers in a pulse desperate to find seed within them. 

He wriggled beneath her, her body sliding to his shoulder. When her core finally released his hand, he stood and carried her to the bed. Gently placing her upon it, and sliding up alongside her, encasing her in his embrace.

“Was that enough?” He asked, but she knew he knew the answer. 

She had no words for him as her body thrummed and his hand slowly smoothed her skin. When her breath came back to her, she turned to face him. 

“Is it like that for everyone?” She asked.

“No. I think not.” He said, his face showing his contemplation. “I think anyone can be like that, but if you do not find someone to read your body as though it were an important scroll, someone who longs for pleasure in your release it becomes more routine, more a spark of pleasure from a spark of play and not a powerful event.” 

Her finger found his belly button as she caressed his stomach. 

“I want more. Not at this moment, but I want more of that with you.” She said.

“Aye, it is like milk-of-the-poppy. The more you have, the more you desire, and you cannot give it up.” He said.

“It will kill me to leave you alone when your moonblood flows.” He said plainly.

“Hmm.” She replied, “I have no doubt of that.”


	8. Chapter 8

The colour flushed on Brienne’s cheeks, and her eyes blazed, as she spoke harshly through clenched teeth at the wildling, “We did not stipulate the length of time I tell you!”

She looked ready to grab Tormund by the hair and smash his head on the table. He took her frustration with his usual good humour, refusing to bite back to her bark. 

“That as may be, but your desire was that I leave you alone for a week. Tis only fair that my desire be met for an equal term.” He refrained from adding - my love, although the words floated so near to his lips. 

Instead he raised his eyebrows and looked to Sansa for support. She did a deep single nod of understanding, trying to show she was taking the matter seriously, despite its triviality. 

“It is true there was no real clarity to Tormund’s request at the time, nonetheless I do think he raises a fair point.” She said, as Brienne looked ready to explode.

Sansa quickly continued, “I feel we can all agree that it was not intended to be an entire day, each day for a week.” 

Brienne smiled smugly at that acknowledgement. Continuing, Sansa said “But perhaps some time each day would satisfy the wager?” 

Podrick stood behind Brienne, smiling at Sansa’s efforts to keep the peace. He found clear amusement with both Brienne’s situation and her obvious annoyance. Of all people, he knew what it took to get under her skin when she neither required you there, nor wanted you. He’d weaselled his way into her affections when she’d had no real need of a squire.

“Ugh!” Brienne exclaimed, as she planted her hands on the table and pushed herself up to standing. 

She knew the proposal was far more than she wanted to give, but was suddenly aware it was far less than the shaggy ginger may demand of her. 

“I will give you an hour now, and be satisfied with that for today!” She said. “If you survive it? Gods, If I survive it! We will agree upon a time for tomorrow.” 

She strode from the room steely faced with Tormund in hot pursuit, a happy grin spread from ear to ear as he came up close behind her.

“May I suggest a stroll around the winter garden?” Sandor called out after them, knowing full well it would anger Brienne further. Her peeved grunt in reply could be heard the length of the hall, despite the breaking of fast commotions throughout.

Sandor’s mirth was apparent. “I do believe that fucker may well wear the bitch down.” He said, almost surprising himself with the news. 

Turning his attention to Podrick he said, “You may as well come with me lad. You can help me train the smallfolk with weaponry. It may even extend your education beyond what that woman has taught you.”

“Yes, ser.” Podrick replied enthusiastically, before taking in the terse look upon Sandor’s face and realising his mistake. 

“Yes, master?” He corrected himself questioningly, before throwing out another option, “Yes, Clegane!”

“That’ll do lad.” Sandor grunted, noisily scraping his stool along the stone floor as he stood. 

“I’ll see you at midday, little bird. If you find time to eat?” He said, pecking Sansa on the head and leaving.

Sansa watched him go, as she always did. 

“It never ceases to enthral me, when I look upon the two of you.” Jaime spoke, his silky voice making her ill at ease. “Not a match I would imagine possible, much less probable?”

“Neither of us saw the situation coming, although we unknowingly held torches for one another for many years.” Sansa spoke honestly.

Jaime choked on his drink. “Really? Now that surprises me even more!” He shook his head in disbelief. “It is not to be unexpected that such a man would admire you, much less desire you, but you him? Unfathomable!”

Sansa squinted her eyes. “And what makes you say that, ser?”

“The position of him, no less the look of him?” Jaime replied, his tone implying it was obvious.

“I enjoy the look of him very much.” Sansa quickly retorted.

Jaime nodded, “I suppose you must.” His face indicating that he was trying hard to believe it.

“His position matters not to me. I would think it should concern you far less? You have almost grown up with the man, surely you should be far more aware than most that he is a man of great honour and honesty?” Sansa eyed him, with a look that almost threatened to call into question his own honour.

“I suppose that is true.” He said. “But when did this torch get lit?”

“When I was but a child in Kings Landing. He was very kind to me there, when others were not. He protected me, when others would not. He did no harm to me, when others did.” She looked at him blank-faced, awaiting a response.

Jaime suddenly found his chair uncomfortable, and squirmed somewhat as his finger discovered a crumb on the table to toy with. “I suppose that would fan a flame.” He said convinced.

“He offered to steal me away the night of the Blackwater, but in the terror of that night I’d been a stupid child and refused him.” She said.

The look upon Jaime’s face delighted her. She could have pushed him off his chair with a blown kiss, and no doubt had to scrape him into a bucket after. 

“Obedient Clegane was going to steal the king’s intended from under his petulant nose? Well …” He spoke slowly and allowed his words to trail off, as he shook his head incredulous. 

Jaime may have secretly sired the Baratheon boy king, but there was no love lost between them. He was not blind to the horror the boy had manifested upon everyone at court.

“I wish you every happiness together.” He suddenly said, appearing genuine in the sentiment.

“Thank you, my lord.” Sansa replied sweetly. “Now, if there is nothing of importance you wish to discuss with me? I must excuse myself from your company. My schedule is full, and I am required elsewhere.”

Sansa stood as his arm swept before him, indicating that she was free to leave. She smoothed out her skirts, and holding her head high as she usually did, she made her way from the hall. A barely apparent smile upon her face as she went, knowing that he had read between the lines - a Hound was worth far more than any Lannister lion.

Joining Davos, Sansa set about her business. She’d been inspecting armour production when Sandor had snuck up behind her.

“You’ll need more wits about you than that, if you are to survive this war, little bird.” He said, catching his arm around her and lifting her off the ground.

“Put me down beast!” She said teasingly.

He did as he was told, only to grab her by the hand and pull her behind a workshop. He planted a passionate kiss on her lips, his arm leaning on the wall above her head, and was gently kissing down her neck, lingering on the soft skin which met her shoulder whilst she feigned annoyance.

“I have work to be done.” She said, as he pushed his hips into hers, alerting her to his true desires.

“As do I, my love.” He said, “But I can still find a moment for you.”

She enjoyed the dalliance for some moments before finally insisting he let her go. She loved that she piqued his libido so much, but she was not about to fornicate around the back of a blacksmith’s, no matter how much he rubbed his hard cock against her. At least she hoped she wouldn’t.

He made a sound that rumbled between satisfaction at a fumble and annoyance for not achieving more, and let her on her way. 

“Until this evening!” He called out to her, as she walked away smiling.

It was late afternoon when she was perusing maps with Davos. Scanning the areas Jon, Dany and Tyrion intended to set alight and a thought struck Sansa which had not previously occurred to her - Sandor cannot stand untamed flame. To see fire burn uncontrollably was his worst nightmare, his only nightmare. He was supremely brave before any threat, except that. He seemed to tolerate a fire in a hearth or torchlight well enough, but he’d lost all sensibility when the Blackwater had burned out of control. He had abandoned his post for the first time in his life. He’d also abandoned her. 

Sansa felt a sickness fester in the pit of her stomach and heard a ringing in her ears. The day could not end soon enough, she needed to see him. What if he ran from her? What if dying in this war was not the only way she could lose him forever? 

Someone spoke, but the voice could not break through her own thoughts, her all-encompassing worry. Davos held her above her elbows and was shaking her gently.

“Are you alright my lady?” He drawled, his face written with genuine concern. “You weren’t with me for a moment.”

“Oh, pray my apologies.” She said, her eyes still glazed over. “What was it you were saying?” 

“That’s of no great consequence.” He replied, “Are you unwell? Do you feel you should rest?”

“Perhaps. Yes, perhaps I should.” Sansa decided.

“I’ll escort you to your chambers forthwith and then seek out Clegane.” He said.

Sansa was still having trouble focussing on his words. “Yes.” She said, “No. By all means escort me to my chambers, but there is no need to trouble Sandor. If you could have someone fetch my maid, that will be enough.”

He crooked his arm for her to hook hers into, and slowly walked her to her chambers, making sure she was comfortable in a chair before he left to have her maid called. Every step Sansa had taken along the way had reverberated in her head. She felt other-worldly; removed from herself and others. 

Ellyn had not been located, but another maid arrived to check on her. “Could you have a bath brought in please.” Sansa asked, and she sat quietly as the tub was carried in, and warm water bucketed to it. 

The maid helped her undress and left her to her soaking. When the sound of the door closing echoed behind her, Sansa had broken down into a flood of tears. She was red-faced and still crying when Sandor burst in. Davos had ignored her instruction and sought him out.

“What is it little bird? What ails you so?” He said, tortured with worry, the words barely out of his mouth before he saw her face.

He was unused to a woman’s tears. Wailing women distraught at a soldier’s treatment of their men he’d seen often enough, but this was no stranger, this was his woman, her tears moistened her cheeks and he could formulate no quick solution or response to them. It had stopped him in his tracks. He stood staring blankly at her.

She splashed water over her face and said “I’m alright. I’m just tired.”

He ventured close and knelt beside the tub, scrutinising her as he pulled off his cape and tossed it aside. He didn’t believe her. There was something amiss. Her eyes were red and swollen, and yes – she did appear tired, but more than that she appeared deeply saddened.

“Do you need me to do something?” He asked quietly. “Is there something I can do?”

She looked up at him. “I just had a thought. One I could not shake. It frightened me.”

His eyes were pleading at her, needing to know the cause of it. He wanted to question her, but he remained silent, fearful if he spoke a word she would withdraw into herself.

“I realised you must leave me. Travel to Essos. You must go!” She said, tears rolling down her cheeks as she spoke, her breath coming to her in gasps.

“By all the gods, why?” He demanded.

“We’ll be burning the north.” She said simply. She began shaking her head, “You can’t be here for it. The Blackwater – it shattered you. You can’t be here when we burn the north.”

He stood up tall as his tunic came up and over his head, letting it fall to the floor. Yanking off his boots urgently he said, “Move over!” 

Still wearing his stockings, breeches and shirt he climbed into the bath, pulling her on to his lap. He cradled her in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and took a moment to consider what she was saying.

“You think I can’t handle the war?” He asked softly.

“It’s not that I think you can’t handle a war, it’s this war. There will be so much flame.” She said.

His hand ran over her head, gathering her hair as he began talking, “I have seen plenty of bloody flame you know? Did Jon never tell you of our time beyond the wall? A bastard dead polar bear burning as it tried to kill us. I’ll not deny I damn near soiled my breeches, but any man would. Then, as we were trapped on a rock in a frozen lake, dragons flew all around us breathing great columns of flame, setting battalions of the dead alight.” 

His hand was rubbing her back as he spoke it almost as though a fairy-tale, “I bloody well rode on one of the fiery beasts to get away.” He added. “I have seen plenty of flame and maintained my wits.” 

“But the Blackwater. You left me.” She said solemnly.

“Is that what worries you little bird? Is that your true concern?” He spoke softly to her.

She remained silent for a moment. “Yes - but no. I fear for you, I fear the terror of the flame will disturb you so deeply that I will lose you anyway.”

He took a deep breath and spoke, “No-one knows how this war will end little bird, or what twists it will take along the way. Only one thing remains certain, I will not leave you. I will never leave you. If I fall in battle, I fall. Any soldier knows that, and faces it unquestioningly.”

He tilted her head back, so she may see his face, “Any soldier’s wife knows it too, and must do the same.”

Laying a gentle kiss on her lips, he realised he wanted to kiss her meaningfully, without intent to fan a flame. Bedding her was not on his mind. He wanted her to find peace, to believe his pledge that he would not abandon her.

Her hand squeezed the sodden fabric on his chest. “Look at you.” She said, “You could have disrobed.”

“Bugger that! Not with you like that. Not in your distress.” He smiled an encouraging small smile, “You really should have spoken to me before you let your thoughts run wild.”

“I’ll not deny the flames disturb me, but I have you now little bird. You to come home to, you to love. It will ground me in battle.” He said reassuringly.

They sat in the water for a long time, both silently contemplating the future. After some time, he lifted her up, peeled his wet clothes off and dried her. He found a clean shift for her and encouraged her into bed.

“I’ll seek out a meal for you, little bird. I did not see you at midday. You must eat properly and rest.” He said.

“You work so hard, and must take better care of yourself.” He said, kissing her forehead. 

He quickly dressed and left. When he returned she was sleeping and, putting the meal down next to the bed, he disrobed once again and climbed in next to her. It was early, but he could think of nothing better to do than just be with her. It was near midnight when he awoke to the movements and sounds of her eating.

“Thank you for the food.” She said.

The glow of the fire cast enough light for him to see she was still not herself. A shadow of sorrow, hung over her, although she was no longer in the abject misery he had found her in earlier. He sat up, and reached for some bread and cheese, nodding when she gestured towards the wine.

“Do you feel better?” He asked tentatively.

“Yes.” She said, “And I am sure I will feel better still, once I have eaten more.”

They sat in quietude, sipping on their wine and eating. 

Breaking the silence, she said “Jaime quizzed me about us today?”

“Really? And what did that smooth prick have to say?” He said.

“Oh, not a lot. Just that he was surprised we were together.” She moved over to lean against him.

“I bet he is.” He huffed. 

Struggling to find anything to say, he said “I saw Tormund when I was on the way to the kitchen. He was delighted with his time with Brienne. He feels sure he is cracking her. They’ve agreed to another hour in the morning. He’s aiming to get to afternoons within a couple of days, and in his words - by the time we get to evenings she’ll be begging for a wildling ride.”

Sansa let out an unbidden snort, making them laugh. “Does he realise she’s a maid still?” She asked.

“Fuck! I doubt it, that’s not the way of the wildlings. They hump anything that moves whenever they choose. Do you think I should warn him?” Sandor asked.

“I think so.” Sansa said, “He may stand a chance with her if he understands her better. He does like her properly, doesn’t he? He’s not just after that is he?”

Sandor nodded. “According to him she is it. A truer goddess never walked the earth. He wants to make giant babies with her.” He said smiling. “He thinks they will be glorious together.”

“I think Jaime likes her too.” Sansa said.

“What the fuck? Surely not?” Sandor exclaimed, surprised. “I thought the only place he wanted to keep his cock warm and wet was in his sister.”

“It’s not like he’s said anything to me. I’ve just noticed the way he looks at her when she is not watching him. He’s always got his eye on her.” She said.

“Does she know?” Sandor asked. 

“I doubt it.” Sansa replied. 

“Bloody hells, I know I call her bitch.” Sandor said, looking a little awkward, “But, I’d rather she ends up with Tormund. He’s a good man.”

“I don’t think Jaime is as bad as he is portrayed. The Kingslayer taunt is unfair. If he hadn’t killed mad King Aerys all those years ago, so many more would have died unnecessarily. Even Dany knows that. Jaime was so very young at the time. It is a heavy burden to carry for a lifetime.” She reflected. “He was certainly true to the word he gave mother, or at least tried to be. And, he’s stood by the truce.”

“You’re forgetting he tipped your brother out a window.” Sandor said bluntly.

“Hmm, Bran doesn’t seem to hold it against him – so what right have I to? Bran seems more aware than anyone that he had his own path to lead in this life, and his fall was just a step along it. What I suppose I mean is that Jaime has changed. Perhaps it is Brienne who has changed him? They certainly spent a long time in each other’s company when he was Robb’s prisoner.” She suggested.

Having finished their meal, they snuggled down under the covers again. He pulled her close, reaching his arm over her, she clasped his hand. 

“Every man is capable of change, Sandor.” She said.

By the time morning broke she was even further back to herself, and he was relieved. They broke their fast together in the great hall, but when Sandor spotted Tormund walking in he was quick to get up and pull him aside.

“I need a word.” He said, “Somewhere quiet.” Gesturing that Tormund join him, he left the hall.

Tormund followed him along the corridor, all the whilst moaning that precious moments which could be shared with his quarry over the morning meal were being lost to him forever by wasting time in the presence of a big scarred ugly bastard instead.

“Shut up and listen, you annoying fuck!” Sandor said, when he finally deemed a spot suitably private, “It’s about that precious bloody quarry of yours that we need to talk. Sansa said something that you should know about Brienne.” 

“I’m listening.” Tormund said, unable to disguise his interest.

Sandor took a breath and started, “It’s just that, well she … it’s just that she’s a …” 

“Just say it.” Tormund said, frustrated.

“She’s a maid. The big bitch is a bloody maid.” Sandor spat out.

Tormund’s eyes could not have been any larger. He gasped in shock, while a cheeky smile began to curl his lips. 

“Well, is that why she plays so damn hard to get?” He said.

“Perhaps, or maybe she just doesn’t fancy a big hairy savage? Either way, I thought you should know that you can’t expect her to act like wildling lasses.” Sandor said.

Tormund slapped his hands on to Sandor’s shoulders. “Thank you, brother, thank you!” He said genuinely. 

“To think my cock will be the first to be hugged by her undoubtedly glorious cunt! What joyous news you have brought me this morning.” He said. “Oh, it shall fill my dreams, that pink untouched flesh.” He was lost in his own imaginings.

“Is that all?” He suddenly said.

“Yes, that’s all.” Sandor said, bemused.

“Well, I’m off to try and sit near her for the meal. We’re due our alone time immediately after. Wish me luck, brother!” He said.

Sandor grunted, an acknowledgment, as they turned together and headed back to the great hall.

When they arrived, Brienne was indeed there, and she did not show complete abhorrence when Tormund made his way to her side. Neither was she welcoming, but the simple severe stare was at least an improvement in attitude. There had barely been a huffy display from her when she later stood. 

“Well, are you coming?” She’d said, glaring at him. 

“Naturally!” He’d said with enthusiasm.

He still walked behind her as they left, but it was just slightly to her side. One could even surmise he was within her peripheral vision. 

“An impressive step up, don’t you think?” Sansa said, knowing Sandor watched the exit keenly as well.

Sandor spoke through a mouthful of food, “We’ll see how well he’s going when we know what agreement has been reached for tomorrow.” 

“It’s quite lovely to watch.” She said.

“Bah! Hardly a great romance for the poets, little bird. They damn near ripped each other’s heads off two days ago.” He scoffed.

“Yes, but I think there lies a seed. Besides, I think that was their way of flirting.” Sansa said confidently.

Sandor laughed. “I’d much prefer you flirt with your eyes, hands and words, little bird than hold a dagger at my neck or try and stab me in the balls.”

“Well, perhaps not flirting per se, more a display of strength like animals in a forest. An elaborate show to entice a mate to breed.” She said.

He stood laughing again. “Well, don’t fucking think you will make yourself more attractive for breeding by putting a knife anywhere near my cock.”

“I wouldn’t risk it my love, it’s far too precious to me.” She said quietly, as he bent down and kissed her goodbye.

When Sansa later made her way to Jon’s chambers for a meeting she couldn’t help but smile when she saw Tormund and Brienne standing together in the courtyard below. It was well past their allocated alone time, and although she doubted they had spent the time between then and now together, she suspected Brienne was not annoyed by his presence and perhaps even liked his company.

“Fuck me sideways!” Sandor announced when he’d come to the chamber that evening. “The hairy sod has managed to get two hours tomorrow morning.” He said, as he removed his cloak and hung it up.

“He says, they will be training for part of it, but he intends it to be as hands-on as possible.” Sandor sat down with a decided glow about him. 

“The world really is turning upside down, little bird.” He remarked, shaking his head, “At this rate Tormund may even snatch her maidenhead before we all die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written a spin-off story "Away From That Lot" which covers what happens on the dates between Brienne and Tormund.


	9. Chapter 9

Sandor’s laugh was genuine and rumbled loudly. The energy of it forced him to double over in his chair by the fire, gasping for air in short bursts, his large bulk jiggling freely as he revelled in the joy of the moment. He had perceived that it was something of great substance that she wished to discuss with him, but this was beyond his imaginings.

“So, you mean to say he’s been screwing his aunt this whole time?” He said, smiling snidely and adding, “Fucken Pervert!”

Sansa failed to see the humour in it. She had finally sought Sandor’s counsel on whether the time had come to tell Jon and Dany of Jon’s lineage, and here he was behaving like the news was part of an elaborate mummers’ fest.

Locking him with a steely gaze, she said. “There is no law against it. It is not as if they are siblings.” 

“True.” He said, tilting his head sideways as if to allow the thought to sink further into his brain. 

“But, it doesn’t stop it being fucking funny!” He rolled with laughter again. 

Sansa looked at him bent over, spluttering and realised his mirth was not going to reach its limit any time soon.

“You’re making me regret telling you.” She said, annoyed.

“Oh, no little bird. You should regret nothing. It’s your brother, ah cousin, who may have misgivings over where he warms his cock.” He said, not attempting to stifle a giggle.

“Really Sandor, you are behaving like a child!” She chastised him, adding “He’s my brother, he was raised my brother.”

“Lighten up, little bird.” He said, finally registering he was truly getting under her skin. He coughed out a final laugh, and straightened himself in his seat to better able respond with the gravitas she expected. 

“I suppose it could become a situation where the longer you hide it, the harder it becomes to reveal the truth.” He said, thoughtfully. 

Sansa nodded, acknowledging the valuable contribution to the conversation, despite its delay in arriving. 

“Who is it who is going to have the vexatious task of breaking the news?” He said, covering his mouth with his palm as if his beard were harbouring an itch, when in truth he obscured a grin.

“I suppose Bran and Samwell would be best to do so? They are the ones who discovered the truth after all and can speak plainly of the facts.” She said.

Thinking a moment, she asked “So, do you think the Queen will abandon us if she knows it?”

“No, I doubt it.” He said quickly, alleviating some of her stress. “She hates the bloody Night King and his grey dead fuckers as much as we do. They took her child from her after all. She’s bloody attached to those beasts, brutal and scary as we may find them.” 

“Then it’s time?” She said, with a hopeful knot in her chest. 

The secret was not one she enjoyed keeping. As the days passed, and with each contact she had with Jon, she found it increasingly arduous to hold it comfortably. She had begun avoiding him as much as she could, and she was sure that he would notice soon.

“Aye, I’d say so. But, what of the issue of succession?” Sandor mooted.

Sansa, sighed. “I had considered that. It is a difficult issue.” 

She began pacing as she spoke, “I do think that Jon harbours no true desire for the throne. He’s never found great comfort amongst crowds.” She spoke as if trying to convince herself.

“A life at court would not be his first choice - it never is for any true man of the north. Having already abdicated to her once, he would not surprise me by doing so again. Beyond that, if they were to make their bedroom arrangements more public and permanent, well they may share the throne?” She said hopefully.

She stood silently for a moment, and looked to Sandor. “I only pray to the old gods and new that Dany sees it that way.” She said, her nervousness apparent.

“Hmm, that’s the real problem.” He replied, thoughtfully. “If she perceives a threat to her quest for the iron throne she could bugger off.”

He pondered some more. “But, regardless of whether Dany takes him on now or later, he’s threatening Westeros and ultimately the iron throne. She’s going to have to go up against him at some point if we fail overcome him.”

Sansa looked at him nodding, his concern reflected in her eyes. He stood and moved over to where she was standing, pulling her into a hug.

“I do believe that delaying revealing the truth any longer could make the situation far worse, little bird.” He said quietly. “She could think we meant to manipulate her and she could decide we knew the truth far longer than we did.”

“Best to lance the wound, before it festers and floods us with a sea of putrid ooze.” He said decisively, as he lay a soft kiss on the top of her head.

Her relief was obvious. “I’ll go to Bran now.” She said. “He’s bound to still be in his chambers at this hour of the day. Could you please go and find Arya and send her there immediately?”

“Certainly, my love.” He said soothingly. “Don’t worry yourself. On the scale of disasters, we currently face, this is more like someone pissed in the wine or shit the bed.” He said, as he rubbed his hands firmly on her triceps, as if fortifying her resolve. 

He reached for her cloak and wrapped it around her, before getting his own.

“Shall we go?” He finished.

He found Arya where he expected her to be. In the courtyard, besting anyone who was brave enough to go up against her. He smiled to himself as he watched. She was vastly entertaining. Her sly and sinister aura put opponents on edge, no matter their size or skill. If it didn’t, all the better to watch them fall ungraciously in defeat. Gaining her attention, he pulled her over to a quiet wall.

Leaning down to her ear he said, “Your sister has told me of the Snow situation.” 

Arya looked at him blankly, before realising what he spoke of. “Oh.” She replied.

“She’s gone to talk to Bran, and she wants you there too. It’s time the truth was known, and you need to discuss how.” He said.

“Fuck.” She said simply.

“Yes, fuck!” He replied. “I’m glad I’m not Bran. Sansa thinks he and Samwell should be the ones to break the news.”

Arya stood just looking at him. “Bugger off then.” He said with a flick of his head, and watched her go.

Samwell looked as if he may well crap himself, as he sat next to Bran, an unnatural sweat sprinkling his forehead on a cold day. Arya stood stoically behind Bran’s other shoulder. She wanted Jon to see her face when he was told, to know immediately that she felt no less love for him and perceived him as nothing other than her brother. Sansa sat nervously in a chair the other side of Bran, clenching her hands together, and breathing out regular short puffs of air to calm her nerves.

They had decided they would tell Jon first, and leave it to him to determine how Dany was told. Jon was unused to being summoned by his siblings of late. Since the death of their father and Robb they had all looked to him as their elder and treated him with the deference the honour deserved. When Jon walked in and saw not only his siblings, but Samwell there nursing a large book on his lap he knew something odd was about to take place.

“Would you like to sit?” Bran asked.

Jon looked at them all perplexed, and with slight apprehension pulled a stool under himself. Flicking his cloak out behind himself he sat and pushing his dark curls from his face.

“What is it?” He asked.

Bran immediately began telling a story about his time beyond the wall. How he had gained the power to see past events, to stand alongside history and witness it unfold. Jon, did not guess what was coming. 

When Bran suddenly said, “I know who your mother is.” Jon went pale. 

He had a sudden feeling that he was not quite in his own body, as if he floated somehow. His eyes seemed to stretch their focus, as if he looked down a tunnel and his ears rung a little. He had longed to know who his mother was his entire life and he was about to find out. He had guessed a bar wench, someone who his father, so young and at war, sought comfort with following terrifying and bloody battles. He could not blame Ned for that need. He had himself sought comfort with Ygritte and could never regret it, no matter the tragic outcome. 

Jon took a deep breath and said, “Go on.”

“Perhaps it is best, if we start with your father.” Bran said. 

Jon looked perplexed.

Without preamble Bran said, “It was not Ned.” 

Jon blinked. He could barely believe his ears, and immediately mourned his loss. Ned was a father to be immensely proud of. His blood was important in the north, and he’d been respected throughout the country. No-one had put any stock in the traitorous cloud he died under. In fact, his death had fortified many against House Lannister, as it was well known that despite the king being of House Baratheon it was a puppet house and the strings were firmly pulled and played by House Lannister. Jon had been without a mother his entire life, and now his father had been wrenched from him in a moment.

“So, I am neither Stark nor Snow?” Jon said slowly, his sadness not disguised.

“You are Stark by blood. Ned’s sister Lyanna is your mother.” Bran said quickly, alleviating some of Jon’s sorrow.

The air suddenly leeched from Jon’s lungs. “Lyanna?” He said, barely allowing himself to believe it.

“But, why keep it from Caitlyn for all those years? She hated me for being Ned’s bastard, and he wasn’t even my father. It could have all been so different.” He said, a rising bitterness in his core. He sat, with his head in his hands, incredulous at what was playing out before him.

“You know Ned. He could not go back on his word once given, and he gave Lyanna his word that he would take you and keep you safe. Lyanna made him promise to share the truth with no-one. She died not long after your birth, having haemorrhaged delivering you. Ned found her before she did, she gave you to him and told him your name. 

Jon looked up, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowly trained on Bran.

“Your name …” Bran hesitated, “Your true name, is Aegon Targaryen.” 

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Then Jon stood up suddenly, knocking his stool over in his haste. “So, Rhaegar raped Lyanna when he took her?” He said quietly, the realisation bringing a harshness to his voice.

“No.” Samwell, spoke quickly. “No, she was not raped, nor was she kidnapped.” He looked to his friend, his eyes begging his soul rest.

He continued, “Gilly found this book when we were at the citadel. A maester made a private record of all he ever did, and I mean all; he even recorded his bowel movements.” He added with disgust.

“He recorded that he saw to the annulment of Rhaegar’s marriage, and immediately thereafter he married Rhaegar and Lyanna.” Sam looked to Bran.

“It’s true.” Bran said, “I saw them wed. Lyanna chose him freely, she was neither forced nor coerced. Robert’s war in search of his stolen love was a lie. She was never kidnapped, she ran away with her lover.

Jon swayed on his feet. Sansa stood and fetched the toppled stool. She held Jon by the shoulder and was encouraging him back on to it.

“I’m Targaryen.” Jon said in disbelief, the words not falling easy from his tongue. 

“Legitimate?” He said, wary of the truth, as he sat shaking his head, before suddenly saying “How long have you known?”

“I have known you were Lyanna’s child for some time. More recently, Targaryen, although I assumed you a bastard still. When Sam arrived here at Winterfell the parts fell into place. You are the true Targaryen heir.” Bran said.

“Why was I not told when I returned?” Jon said, anger rising in his voice.

“Please understand, we felt we couldn’t. We were fearful of losing the Queen’s support in the war to the north.” Sansa pleaded.

Jon sat silently taking in her words. “Seven hells! The Queen!” He exclaimed. “She’s ….” He could not finish the thought.

“Your aunt.” Bran finished for him.

Jon stood quickly again, this time kicking the stool purposefully across the room. Sansa thrust herself towards him, embracing him, he made a small effort to buck her off but quickly gave into her. 

“It’s alright.” She said, holding him. 

Arya rushed to join them in their embrace, and the three stood together wrapped in each other for a long moment. Sansa broke the silence, with quiet soothing words. She whispered that they had not wished to keep it from him, and begged him to understand the predicament at hand. When they felt his body lose its tension, Sansa and Arya released him from their hold. Stepping back to give him space, they looked at him cautiously.

“So, the iron throne. It is mine by right.” He said, a glimmer coming across his dark eyes as incredulity made way to reality.

“Yes.” They said in unison.

Tormund was shaking his hips in an almost dance. The furs which draped him shimmered under the shards of winter sunlight, and swayed as if making a beastly mating display. 

“Oh, it is a glorious day. An afternoon!” He said, excitedly. “I have been promised an afternoon on the morrow.” His head faced the sky as if his prayers had been answered, before excitedly returning his attention to his friend.

Sandor rolled his eyes at him. “If you behave like that anywhere near the big bitch, she’ll cancel it in a heartbeat.” He said gruffly, waving a large finger in the direction of Tormund’s crotch.

“Oh, I doubt it, my friend.” Tormund said confidently. “She’s liking what I have to offer.”

“I take it your morning went well then?” Sandor deduced.

“Indeed! An hour spent training. Oh, she was rough, red faced and angry, but you can be assured that I made the most of it. I mounted her as often as I could, and …” He sighed, grinning “she mounted me.” 

“She was in armour you great twat! As if that was an erotic thrill? You could no more rub your cock up against her, as light a fire with it.”

“True, but the weight of her upon me.” He said reflectively, “It was intoxicating. Those eyes, her steely blue eyes pierced me to my core.”

Sandor rolled his eyes again. “And then what?”

The wildling reached for Sandor’s shoulder and quietly spoke into his ear. “Then we walked to a stream, to splash fresh water on our faces and talk. She did not stride off without me, she waited for me to join her at her side and we strolled together.” 

“Hmm.” Sandor said. “It would seem you are making progress.”

“Oh, yes I am.” Tormund said, suddenly pushing down on Sandor’s shoulder, jumping slightly into the air and clicking his heels together. 

“For fuck sake man! Stop it already! If she sees you dancing like a girl it’s all over.” Sandor said gruffly.

“She has said, I may choose the time in the afternoon.” Tormund said. “So, I have decided upon late afternoon. I’m off to the kitchen to arrange some food. I will take her back to that stream, and we shall train beside it, then enjoy a small meal beside the river. I will take a fur for us to sit upon.”

“Gods! It sounds almost romantic. I didn’t know wildlings had it in them.” Sandor said, vaguely curious, if not a little impressed.

Tormund hunched his shoulders, “We don’t, but I have been talking to your beauty, and she suggested the plan.” He said, his grin so broad he could not contain it.

His eyes glinted as he spoke conspiratorially, “If that goes well, Sansa has suggested a ride the following day. She’s to draw me a map, so I may study it. There’s hot pools that bubble up in a stream, in a nearby forest, that we may wish to soak our muscles in.” 

“Bloody hells!” Sandor said, eyes wide open. “Sansa has far more confidence in your banter than I do. You’ll be lucky if Brienne doesn’t push you into the rock pool and watch you drown. If she’s remotely fond of you, she’d probably just drop a boulder on your cock and cackle whilst she did it.”

“You’re forgetting brother, I have plenty of time to soften her between now and then. Just not completely alone. There’s a lot a man can achieve in public.” He winked, smiled smugly and wandered off. 

“So, how did it go with your brother, little bird?” Sandor faced the hook on the wall as he spoke, so he could hide any grin that came unbidden. 

“Better than I could hope really.” Sansa said. “That’s not to say it was easy on Jon or us, but it’s done now. He is going to think upon it and decide how best to tell Dany.”

Sandor could see the relief all over her now and cursed himself for not having been more observant. He should have seen something tormented her, but he had been so tied up by his own passion for her that he’d missed it.

“What’s this I hear about a hot pool in a stream?” Sandor asked, changing the subject.

Sansa just looked at him. “Oh, that. It’s north of the castle. Why?” She said.

“Why pass that little gem on to the ginger when you’ve not shown it to me? He said, embracing her and rubbing himself up against her.

She laughed. “Would you be interested?”

“Of course, any small adventure with you would be pleasant, but I’ll not want to soak in it once that hairy ginger has sullied it.” He said, screwing his face up in mock disgust.

“We could go now if you like? It’s only a short ride, not even half an hour. If we take towels and furs to warm with afterwards, it could be nice despite the dark and cold. In fact, it could be nicer.” She said, not hiding her hopeful grin.

“Lead the way.” He said, spinning himself around and reaching for his cloak again.

He’d saddled his horse, whilst she fetched wineskins and furs. He lifted her effortlessly into the saddle once she was ready, and strapped the fur roll so it sat on the rump of the horse. Pulling open the cork of a wineskin with his teeth he took a large slug and handed it to her, before strapping his sword to his back and climbing into the saddle. Pulling her close, he wrapped his cloak about them both, and she giggled as they set on their way.

The night sky was dark but clear, stars shone brightly in the sky and the moon looked huge. They were in no rush and allowed the horse its head to amble slowly towards their destination, enjoying the solitude and fresh air. The castle was rank with too many people and animals crowded into an enclosed space despite its substantial dimensions.

He pulled a glove off with his teeth and placed it under the strap which secured his sword, and then squeezed his hand into the neckline of her dress, so he may cup her breast warmly. He seemed to always gravitate to her left breast, as if it were home to him. He did not fondle it in a sexual way, it was just a comfort to them both as they rode. When they’d ridden north a while, she pointed to a large rock at the side of the road and a barely perceptible break in the trees. 

“There.” She said.

He pulled gently on the reign and the horse turned to follow the path. It was only wide enough to allow a single horse through and, although the path was not well worn, you could tell it had seen enough traffic over the years to compact the soil and dissuade plant growth. They were slowly climbing a hill, and could hear water babbling nearby although trees obscured it from their view.

Despite the dark they could make out a tall pile of stones ahead and another small break in the trees. 

“Best dismount here.” Sansa said.

His hand was reluctant to give up its cosy place, and he screwed up his nose as he pulled it free and reached for his glove. He swung down, and lifted her from the horse, giving her a small kiss when she landed.

“We’ll leave the horse here.” She said. 

Without the noise of the horse’s footfall and their conversation, he could tell they were nearer to the water than he’d suspected. He removed his cloak and tossed it over the horse, gathered the furs and wine and slung them over his shoulder.

“Down here.” She said, smiling sweetly. “Watch your step.”

Over the years the smaller path leading down to the water had been formed almost into a stair, with previous generations of bathers having placed helpful rocks to step upon. Within a short walk of where they left the horse he could see moonlight glinting on the surface of the stream. Once they were level with it they followed alongside it north for a few moments and came to a tiny clearing. They stretched the furs out under a tree and he watched her strip, shivering before stepping gingerly across the rocks and lowering herself into the steaming rock pool.

You could see where bathers had built up small walls by laying stones on top and against each other to change the course of the stream, diverting it away from where the warm water bubbled up, allowing the heated water to form a pool large enough for three if not four people to lay in comfortably. Other small pools were dotted around. The hot spring must have broken the crust of the earth in at least ten places he thought.

“Aren’t you coming?” She asked.

“Yes, I’m just enjoying the view.” He smiled and winked.

She submerged her shoulders under the water as she spoke. “It was always exciting coming here as a child.” She said, remembering. “Although I suspect this will be nicer.”

He started to undress, and the cold air encouraged him swiftly to her side. He stood naked above her, as she raised her arm up to stroke his thigh. The warm water she dripped quickly became cool on his already cold skin. He stepped into the pool and felt a painful tingle as though it burned. His skin adjusting to the change, allowed him to cautiously sit down in the pool, before leaning back to submerge himself so that only his head sat above the water.

“Tell me again, why you never told me of this place?” He said.

“I just didn’t think of it.” She said. “You’ve kept me fully entertained of late.” 

She looked at him tenderly and pulled herself towards him. They kissed, warm and wet for some moments, but neither one seemed mad keen to take it further, both simply enjoying the peace of the pools and the sparks simple kisses provided. 

Sandor leaned back and looked up at the night sky, framed by the tree canopy above them. 

“It’s so peaceful.” He said. 

“Hmm.” She agreed. “I’m glad we came. There will be precious few moments to ourselves soon. I don’t know how long this war will last, but it will be like no other. There will be no negotiations, no prisoners, no surrender. We will win, or we will lose.” She said simply, resigned to it but not fearful.

He reached a hand out to hers and locked fingers with her. “If we lose, I am glad I no longer pine for you. The years I had longing for you were long, and with luck we’ll defeat this cunt and the years I’ll have you in my arms will be longer.”

She smiled at him and slid on to his lap, touching his face, looking deeply into his dark loving eyes and kissing him. 

“If I trust my heart, that is the outcome I believe in.” 

When they tired, of the water, they climbed out and grabbed the towels.

“Fuck it’s cold!” Sandor said, as he rubbed dry her legs whilst she was drying her arms. 

“Quick, get under the furs.” He instructed, smacking her bottom. 

She did as was told, only reaching out from beneath the deep furs to snatch a skin of wine. He made short work of drying himself and slid in beside her. 

“That’s better.” He said, as he pulled her close, and began kissing her. 

Their bodies were still deeply warm from the pool, despite their skin cooling rapidly when they climbed out. Within moments, the contact with the lush furs and their own flesh on flesh heated their skin to a cosy temperature. She giggled as he turned her over, lining her back up against his front, as they lay on their sides. 

“Gods, that feels good.” He said, adding “The fur, the warmth, your breasts.” With an appreciative air to his voice.

She could feel his cock harden behind her, and she pushed her bottom against it encouragingly. He growled as he nuzzled her neck, and a hand fondled his favoured breast, brushing the nipple slightly, teasingly.

“Fuck me gently.” She said. 

“Are you sure?” He said, his tone implying he knew her better than that.

“I’m sure I don’t want great gusts of cold air beneath these furs, which will be the case if you roll around like you usually do.” Her tone brooking no argument.

“Ha! You think it’s me that’s all over the bed, little bird? You do a fair amount of rolling around yourself.” He said as he caressed her.

He kissed her neck again, as his hand softly stroked her stomach. She loved it when he put his hand there. It felt as if it covered the expanse of her core, as if his long fingers and broad palm could grab her soul. His fingers finding her mound, lingered amongst her curls. She bent her top leg forward, granting him access as she again encouragingly pushed her bottom against his cock, and leaned her head back into his shoulder. She could feel his knob pressing up against her entrance and the smile grew on her lips. 

He pushed his cock up against her, his knob only just entering her, it took her breath away. He pulled out and she screamed inside her head with the loss. In a heartbeat he was back, and pushed in again, only deeper. She felt as if she were on the cusp of satisfaction, but he wasn’t that easy on her. He went only deep enough to heighten her desire, and was then gone again. Again, she screamed in her head, and her bottom pushed up against him unbidden by her. It knew its own desire and sought it out itself. Then he entered again, and slid so slowly it felt as though it could kill her. It travelled the fine line of fulfilling and denying her desire. He pushed in deeper still and she was filled by him. She let out a sound.

“Gentle enough?” He asked.

“You’re killing me!” She said.

“I know.” He growled happily. 

She could feel his lips curling into a smile on the back of her neck, and she was glad she could bring him joy. She’d seen his face so severe and moody for so many years, and she knew it was she who had changed him. He slowly, so slowly, withdrew again and just when she was going to scream at the horror of losing him again, he stopped and pushed back in full depth again.

“Argh.” She called out in pleasure.

He laughed. “You’re so easy to torture.”

“Shut up. You’re glad of it.”

“That I am, little bird, that I am.” He said satisfied.

He began a more regular thrust. A pump that combined all the gentleness in him with all the determination of his sex. He would have her fall apart in his hands, and she knew it. His fingers were brushing against her nub, helping her find her release. The fur was so sensual against her skin, his body so hot and hard behind her.

She called out again. She knew that would heighten his desire, his need to pump harder, but he resisted it. She felt herself crumbling at his touch, her senses overwhelmed by his love. Just when she felt as though she would melt into the earth and never be human again, he began to pump harder, quicker, her soft calls of pleasure matched by his own soft grunts, which filled her ear and made her happy. When she finally burst apart she felt that hand, that huge hand pulling her belly into him as if grasping hold of her very soul, never to return it to her again.

He could tell she wanted to drift off to sleep, warm, comfortable, satisfied and he whispered in her ear.

“Sleep now, little bird, we shall wake in an hour or two and I will have you hard and fast before we ride home.” He promised.

Her cheeks lifted into a broad contented grin as the sleep took her, because she knew a Hound would never lie.

The horse was skittish, pirouetting in circles and clawing at the dirt instead of turning south when they exited the forest. It was then that they saw it. A blue light flashing high in the dark distant sky. Sansa reached behind herself to grip Sandor’s leg. 

“Do you think it’s him?” She asked, her voice breaking with nerves, whispering in fear.

Sandor didn’t answer, instead she felt his knees squeeze the horse’s ribs. 

“Hold tight.” He growled.

Flicking the reigns, and directing the horse south at a run. They rode hard to Winterfell, never stopping until they reached the gates.

“Open the fucking gates!” He called, to a nervous guard. 

“Who is it?” The guard called back.

“It’s Sandor Clegane, and if those fucking gates don’t open now, I’ll be the bloody Hound by the time I get in there.”


	10. Chapter 10

When they made love it was passionate, their skin seemed to melt into each other. It differed to the carnal way Khal Drogo had made love to her in the hot open air. It was more a meeting of hearts and minds with Jon, rather than the animalistic passion her husband had brought out in her. She’d loved Drogo deeply, so deeply that she had believed herself incapable of ever loving again. Drogo was an alpha-male, he had dominated all those around him, including her. In her youth, Dany had accepted it without question. It was not until after his death that she truly found that she had her own voice, and discovered her true self.

Jon had always looked to her as an equal, and revered her as his queen. Their love and love-making were based more on a mutual respect, conversation, and an undeniably powerful pull of attraction that bonded them. Their bodies fit together perfectly, as if made for each other alone, and whenever the door shut to their chamber she could be more herself with him than she had ever been with anyone. He made her happy in ways she had thought impossible.

This night he’d been different though. She’d seen it earlier in the day, something worried him. He’d avoided coming to their chamber until so very late into the night. She could see he had tried to push it aside when near her, but even when they had made love, something dark hovered within the passion that had not been there before.

“I need to know what it is.” She said to him, as she lay with her head on his heart listening to it beat.

“What do you mean?” Jon answered.

“Something disturbs you. You’re harbouring something.” Dany said.

He should have been surprised that she was asking, but he knew it had been impossible to hide the emotional impact his day had upon him. His hand ran through her hair, the white strands like a jewel from the stars flowing in threads between his fingers. It would be unbearable to keep it from her, he knew. She had always brought out something in him that made him want to give himself absolutely to her, and with this it would be no different.

“Something was revealed to me today, that I must share with you.” He said lowly before confessing, “I don’t know how.” 

She tilted her head to look at him as he spoke. 

He continued, “I worry you will look differently upon me, or feel differently towards me. That you will no longer want me.” He said, morbidly, his face showing his pain.

She looked across at her own hand which lay upon his chest and couldn’t imagine what he would say that could possibly make her want to give him up. She sat up, so she could better see his eyes, critically reading them. The dark pools revealed nothing but torment. The pain he was in swallowed her, as his hands cupped her face and they shared a kiss, one which spoke his passion and his fear. She felt afraid in a way that she hadn’t known since she’d had to leave him behind north of the wall, at the time believing he would die.

“You must tell me now.” She demanded. “You’re worrying me so.”

His face twitched as he fought to find the words. “Bran spoke to me today of a gift he has discovered.” He began.

“A power which allows him to visit history, to see moments as they unfolded in past times. He told me who my mother was.” He spoke matter-of-factly, as if detached from the moment and reached over to touch her fingers, tracing her knuckles absently as he spoke.

Her eyes were darting between his, reading his face as best she could. This news should have been joyful. She knew Jon had always longed to know, but it was stressing him in a way she could not understand, and it was therefore distressing her.

“I shall start as Bran did.” He said. “Ned Stark is not my father.”

“Go on.” She said, twisting her hand beneath his, so it may hold it tight. 

“He was in truth my uncle. His sister Lyanna was my mother.” He finished. 

She could feel where this was going, having been told the story since childhood of Lyanna’s kidnapping and the carnage which followed. It was a bleak tale that underpinned her life in exile. 

“And you father?” She said, encouragingly, already realising the truth.

He took a breath before speaking, and slowly let it out. “Was your brother, Rhaegar.” He said.

“And you fear that, because you are my brother’s son, I will reject you? She said, plainly.

“Yes.” He said, his sadness inescapable.

“Is there a law in Westeros which prohibits an aunt from being with a nephew?” She asked.

“No, there is no law against it.” He shook his head as he spoke, his dark curls bobbing as he did so.

She reached for a curl and twisted it around her finger, its blackness stark against her pale skin. “You know Targaryen’s would be happy for it. They married siblings for generations to keep bloodlines pure. Even the small amount of blood we share would be felicitous to our ancestors.” She said, trying to sooth his woe. 

“It is no doubt why my children accept you as they do. They smell my blood stirring within you, fuelling your core. It will be why they allow you to ride them without me.” She smiled.

“So, you don’t mind?” He said hopefully.

“I believe I don’t care at all.” She smiled again, as she kissed him. 

It was still there, that turmoil, she felt it fester within him still and it now worried her even more. 

“What is it? Is there something else? She asked.

He nodded, and shifted himself upon the bed, to kneel before her. Her heart beat rapidly in response, she could sense this was the true revelation, the words he did not wish to say. The moment she perhaps now wished would not come. He took her hands in his and lay his head upon them, before looking up to her, his eyes peering up from beneath his worried brow. It was impossible not to feel his deep desire, that she not abandon him.

“There’s a book, Sam brought with him from the citadel.” He said.

Jon didn’t want to say the words, but he could see the fear he was creating in his love, she held her breath as she waited for his words. “A maester recorded the annulment of Rhaegar’s marriage, and it records his marriage to Lyanna.” His eyes did not leave her face as he spoke.

She gasped a quick almost inaudible inward breath, blinked and slowly pushed herself away from him, climbing from the bed her silver hair fell forward and brushed his hands, trailing away with her movement like starlight unable to be caught. He crawled across the bed towards her. 

“It needn’t change anything between us.” He pleaded.

She raised her palms towards him, her fingers splayed and shook her head. “So, you say you are legitimate, that you are Rhaegar’s true heir?” Her voice crackled as she spoke, her mind struggling to comprehend the words, although she spoke them herself.

He swung his legs around underneath himself and stood to step towards her. The firelight behind him, making his usually pale skin take on a dark ominous shadow. The sight of him naked would typically make her move towards him, without conscious thought. Instead, she took an instinctive step backwards. 

“I am saying nothing need change.” He said. “The iron throne is of no concern to me, it will no longer exist if we do not defeat the Night King. My only focus, my one desire, is to defeat the Night King.” He pleaded.

Her hands raised further, her palms still facing him as if shielding her from his words.

“And if there were no Night King?” She said severely, almost spitting the words with venom.

“But there is.” He insisted. “There is a Night King, and with him a vast army of the dead. You have seen it. There are wights, and white walkers and we are here, together, you and me at Winterfell and we must defeat them.” 

She gasped in shock at the sudden sound of banging on the door, and reached for a dressing gown whilst eyeing Jon suspiciously as he rushed to grab one himself and flung open the door. 

“Excuse me my lord, but you must come at once to the northern-most tower! The Hound insists. I fear there is something unnatural out there.” The guard said anxiously.

“Awake Lord Tyrion.” Dany instructed, her tone immediately regal and authoritative, as she made to get dressed. 

XXX

Sansa struggled to keep up with Sandor as he climbed the steep stone steps of the north-eastern tower of the castle. The treads had shiny hollows worn into them from hundreds of years of boots falling in precisely the same place upon the narrow stair. Sandor took them in twos, his long legs making the task effortless, whilst Sansa hurriedly ran behind him, hindered by her skirts. When she reached the top, she saw him already looking out over the ramparts, his face tense and bleak. 

“Is the light still there? She asked.

“Yes.” He said, his voice a tone deeper that its usual gravelly low. “Only brief flashes, but it is there.”

“What the fuck are the cunt watchmen doing?” He said, suddenly angry. “Bastard sons of whores drinking or fucking on the job! How is it no-one saw this?” 

It was not long before they heard hurried footsteps upon the stairs. 

“What is it?” Jon said breathlessly, as he charged on to the rooftop, his cloak flapping behind him like a dark foreboding bird of prey.

“Look for yourself.” Sandor replied, pointing out into the blackness.

At first when Jon looked out he did not see it, but then just as he was about to say so, it appeared; bright blue light, flashing in streaks. 

“It’s him?” Jon questioned. His heart pounded in his chest, he knew from fear and not his climb.

“Yes, I think so.” Sandor replied.

“Fuck.” Jon said quietly.

“FUCK indeed.” Sandor confirmed loudly, as he turned to see who it was who was now making their way up the stairs.

Dany swept on to the roof, Tyrion hurrying behind her with his tunic sloppily pulled on and his hair messed from sleep. He carried his cloak and was hastily throwing it around his shoulders. 

“What’s going on? Dany asked.

“The Night King. We think we see Viserion’s flame. It must be many, many miles away, but it is there nonetheless.” Jon told her.

Dany looked confused, and rushed to lean on the rough stone rampart. “My children don’t hunt at night.” She said, as she looked out and saw for herself. 

“Perhaps the cold, his death changed him?” She mused. “He is not as he was.” She declared, the sorrow scored her voice.

“How long have you seen the light?” She asked.

“Half an hour at least.” Sandor replied. “We’d ridden to the hot pools and were coming back.”

“Have someone wake Bran.” Jon ordered. “We need to know how far away he is, and whether he has started exploring ahead of his army?”

“It could be further away than we think. The blackness of the night could carry the light to us.” Sansa hoped. She pulled at the hem of her sleeve as she spoke, unable to disguise her nerves.

“Viserion may have tired of hovering above the army, of being constrained by the king.” Dany said hopefully, “He may have left the king. It is not unusual for them to disappear for days at a time when they wish to hunt. They are no tame pet.” 

“But they return of their own volition?” Jon stated more than asked.

“Always.” Dany said definitively.

The group stood together watching for another hour without conversation, Jon could feel Dany’s eyes upon him at times as the cold took bites at their faces. They gathered in front of a newly lit brazier as gum sparked and the flame struggled to release any real heat. The startling blue light consumed their thoughts as they watched it eventually abate. 

“Have a guard stationed here every night, all night.” Jon said to a soldier. “I want to know the moment it is seen again.” Jon instructed.

“What do we do now?” Sansa asked as they all headed for the stairs.

“Nothing. We wait for Bran to tell us what he knows, and we pray.” Jon said, looking to Dany.

She nodded her head. “Yes, we pray we can defeat this creature, this king who threatens all we have built.” She said, as she reached her hand out to Jon.

“I will have a meeting with you at first light, Lord Tyrion, bring Jorah.” She said. “There is something Jon and I must discuss with you both.”

“As you wish, your grace.” Tyrion said, bobbing his head in a slight bow, as he gladly returned to his bed.

The night enveloped Jon, its achromatic gloom matching his thoughts. Dany appeared to be at ease with the news he had revealed. She had declared her support for the cause and taken him by the hand as they left the rooftop, but she’d barely had a moment to consider it properly. He was her nephew, and in time she may decide he was not to be trusted. Between that worry and the sighting of the blue light, this would not be a night that sleep would beckon him. He carefully rolled over, as the bed groaned beneath him. His muscles begged to be stretched and shifted fully but although he felt sure Dany slept, he was certain her own brooding would hamper its depth. 

He was relieved when there was a knock at the door, it was sure to bring word from Bran and he could at last stand and move freely. 

He opened it, and looked eagerly at the servant. “What news from Bran?” Jon said.

“My lord, the dragon hunts alone, although it eats nothing. It kills for the sake of killing. The army continues its slow march. My lord Brandon thinks they will be at our walls within ten days, maybe less.” The man spoke with a calm countenance, his eyes betraying his fear.

Looking at him, Jon felt the oppressive responsibility of his role. So many people relied on him for their safety; common folk, nobles and soldiers alike, and it was a heavy burden to carry. He felt as though it were he who had brought this war south of the wall. That was not the truth of course, the war was coming whether Jon conveyed the news of it or not.

“Take my thanks to Bran please.” Jon said.

“At once.” The man replied, turned sharply on his heel and left.

Dany’s arm extended out from under the covers. “Come back to bed.” She said, reaching for him. “You must sleep now. Your days are so long. 

He went to her and pulled her close, but he knew there would be no sleep for him.

XXX

“We should speak of this alone, khaleesi.” Jorah said, glaring suspiciously at Jon, and stretching his shoulders back to puff himself up to his full breadth and height.

“There is no need, you may speak plainly here.” Dany replied.

Jorah had always found it difficult to disguise his romantic love for the queen, but with Dany now so openly displaying her intimate relationship with Jon, he found it impossible to contain his jealously. 

“Then I shall.” Jorah said. “How do we know he speaks the truth, khaleesi?” 

“I know, my children know.” She said, her face certain of its thought. “We have the book recording Rhaegar’s annulment and marriage, and there is also a man who lives still, who was with Ned when he found Lyanna. He can confirm Ned entered the tower following his sister’s cries and screams, reappearing a short time later with Jon.” 

She thought a moment and added, “Why claim the babe as his bastard, to the unending ire of his beloved wife, if he did not have a much darker secret he wished to protect?”

“But, how do we know he knew none of this before? We cannot know that he has not played you for a fool and manipulated you to gain your trust and push your claim aside, khaleesi? Jorah said, trying to sway her.

“Do not presume me to be a fool, ser!” Dany barked, not hiding her anger. “He has not pushed my claim aside. We have put that matter aside together. The war to the north is the only war at this moment.” She said definitively.

Tyrion, had been quietly distracted in the corner, thinking through all he had heard. “I feel it is no bad thing, my queen. You know the matter of succession has concerned me greatly for some time. With two living Targaryen heirs, I believe the iron throne could be more securely sought. The people could see that their future is assured in the dynasty.” He said sincerely.

“Nonetheless, you both must fight in this great war, if we stand any hope of winning, and either or both could fall.” His brow furrowed at the thought. “Succession is still of great concern. You must name an heir.” He said, his tone insistent.

Jon nodded. “I understand your fear, lord Tyrion.” He said.

He took no time in contemplating the matter. “Although, I have no desire to discuss whether my claim supersedes my Queen’s, should we both fall in battle I would name House Stark as my heir. I am blood of both houses and, without Targaryen progeny, House Stark would be an obvious answer.” He said.

“That would at least satisfy that scenario.” Tyrion said with some relief. “But, the matter must be discussed more fully as soon as possible. If you Jon, were to die and my queen survive, I would not like to see a Stark attempt to take the throne ahead of a Targaryen. The situation is messy, it must be decided who has the true right to the throne, you or her grace? It must be documented, and soon, so there may be no doubt in the matter.”

It was clear the hand was not willing to let go of this, having at last been able to broach the subject for proper discussion.

“Then document this …” Dany began, “It is King Aegon who is the true heir, I his Queen Consort. His child will be first in line regardless of its sex, and I Queen Regent if our child is not of age of majority or dies without progeny, then upon my death House Stark takes the throne.” 

“But khaleesi, I beg you cannot give up your rights so carelessly!” Jorah insisted, red faced with frustration.

“It is not without care. Do not presume to know how deeply I think, ser Jorah!” She said annoyed, her gaze capable of cutting the man down. 

“Jon is the legitimate son of my eldest-brother. There is no question that his right precedes my own.” She paced as she spoke, as if walking the words into the stone. 

“I shall sit upon the iron throne at his side. We shall rule together. Our child shall rule after us. The blood of the dragon is thick and rich. It will rule the Seven Kingdoms for thousands of years.” Her hand rested on her stomach as she spoke, as if willing dormant seed to take.

Jon looked at her disorientated, “I am unsure I even desire the throne.” He said slowly. “I have barely had a moment to understand my own heritage.”

“It is not a question of your desires, nor your understanding. Your blood dictates it. You are blood of the dragon, you are fire and ice itself, the iron throne is yours.” She said, her eyes piercing him as she spoke.

“I do not wish to usurp you.” Jon said truthfully. 

“You don’t.” She rebutted. “My claim was never sound. I had thought it valid, but it is undeniable that your own claim is truer.” 

Dany moved over to him and took his hand. “We will be together, rule together. I know it in my very being. The semantics of it are an unnecessary distraction, a hinderance to attaining the true outcome. House Targaryen will return to their throne, that is the only concern following our defeat of the Night King.” She said.

Jon nodded slowly.

“I shall document the decision.” Tyrion said, keen to secure the claim and in time snatch the throne from his mad-sister, Cersei

“We shall call you your grace once again.” He said smiling at Jon. 

Jon replied with a raised brow. 

“From bastard to Lord Commander, from commander to Lord of Winterfell, then lord to King of the North. From king back to lord, and finally you are King of the Seven Kingdoms awaiting your throne. Your journey has been varied, your grace.” He said, as he bowed, sweeping his arm before him. “If that is all you require of me, I shall take my leave and pick up my quill.”

Jon, looked to Dany and she squeezed his hand. “You may go, lord Tyrion. I trust you will carry out your task efficiently.” She said.

“You too may take your leave ser.” She said, as she looked to a shattered Jorah Mormont.

XXX

Sandor was looking at Tormund with disbelief. “And you managed such a pleasant date this very afternoon despite the world turning to shit last night?” He was impressed, although he’d never admit it to the ginger.

“Aye, perhaps because of it? That blue light was the talk of the castle all day. We trained by the stream as I had planned, and I made sure my face came close to hers, or my lips grazed her neck, every time I mounted her. She then sat next to me and ate as if to share a rug and meal with me were the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps she feels the pull between her legs because of me, or perhaps it is knowing that the beast flies the skies at night and I could give her some small comfort with my cock.” The wildling spoke matter-of-factly, without his usual unabashed excitement. 

“Regardless, it was her that offered me a choice of time tomorrow.” Tormund said, clearly surprised himself.

“I am sure that your cock would be a very small comfort.” Sandor said slyly, never one to pass up the opportunity to jest or belittle his friend. 

“So, you intend to take her to the hot pools tomorrow night?" He asked.

“Aye, we leave at dusk.” Tormund replied.

“As long as you are sure of it.” Sandor advised. “Sansa took me there and it is an enchanting place at night. If Brienne thinks you plan to bed her when she lays her eyes upon the pools, she may run scared, leaving all your wooing for nought.”

“Hmm.” The wildling said, taking his words on board. “I feel confident though, that there has been a shift between us. That she desires me.” He said, still surprising Sandor with his sincerity and lack of joviality.

“Then take only one horse. The ride together may increase your chance of success, and there is the excuse of a narrow track to traverse.” Sandor said, slapping his friend on his shoulder and squeezing it.

“You may have eaten, but I am yet to do so. Will you come and drink with me whilst I dine?” Sandor asked.

“Aye.” The wildling said, and they made their way inside.

As Sandor approached the table he became reflective. It was so natural now to dine with others, to share Sansa’s chamber and bed. The world may well be falling apart around them, but his own personal existence had improved beyond measure. He was happy in his new home, and felt confident in his future there. He grunted to himself considering it. How had he managed it? He looked around, at the faces surrounding him. A lifetime had been spent alone. He’d happily disowned his only family, Gregor. Now he was surrounded by friends and family, something he would have found impossible to imagine a short time ago, let alone believe possible. He caught sight of her red hair as she entered the room.

Her grace was undeniable. She had the walk of a woman who had known her own importance her entire life. This was not a woman who should love a man such as himself, and yet she did. She smiled at him as she approached. His own face breaking into a smile in return without conscious thought by him and he found himself saying a prayer in his head to every god he could think of, that his woman be protected from harm during the war on their doorstep. That this place, Winterfell, be saved from destruction and limit the death that was sure to come.

It seemed unnaturally cruel to him, for the gods to allow a man such as himself a taste of life as it could be. To show him what a life could hold, what a future could be, and all he had missed in the past. She was at his side now, kissing his cheek. The warmth of her lips, their delicate softness radiating their kindness out from where they touched. Her sweet smell filling his nostrils. He felt his eyes flood with moisture, he wasn’t sure whether from contentment or fear that this may all end very soon. He looked down at the plate in front of him and blinked hard, clearing his eyes before he turned to her and reached for her hand. He squeezed it, and his thumb stroked her skin in a repetitive reassuring sweep.

“Has your day been fruitful my love?” He asked.


End file.
